Chasing Dusk

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I run towards a tattered sky

as the sun sinks lower and the moon draws my eye.

Ribbons of pink entwine with blue;

torn shreds converge in Van Gogh hues.

Mannequin trees, bare limbs outstretched

stand silhouetted; their stance protects.

Mercury pools spill over the ground

their beauty revealed; night’s magic surrounds.

I run and I run, my path now disguised

I’m at one with the darkness; instinct is my guide.

No more tattered sky, just a seamless black cape

that silently cloaks my only escape….

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Uninvited

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Last night,

uninvited

you entered my dream

hitching a ride

on a stray moonbeam

that slipped without sound

through my half open blinds,

projecting lost thoughts

on my unconscious mind.

Whilst the clock blinked on,

sleep took me back

to a time, a place

we could both lose track.

You took my hand,

I returned your smile,

sensory magic

at once beguiled.

Surreal emotions,

a transient tryst,

in stained glass colour

I tasted your kiss…

Star-crossed, unrequited

you entered my dream,

together we were one

in this sensual stream.

You aroused my subconscious

you awakened my heart

for a fleeting moment

we were together; apart.

Then like all the stars
that fade before day
as night’s grainy shadow
melts into grey,
all that we were
soon slipped away…

Last night,

uninvited,

you entered my dream

and now I’m left wondering

what could have been?

Rum Calling

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Shouldering a blue bruised sky

the Cuillins of Rum match the wild in her eyes

their strong silhouette silently calling;

an opaque serenade of contours now rising

reaching above the furrowed brow of the sea

like a crown torn out of history.

Cobalt ridges muted by whispers

of softly spoken clouds

loom out of this brooding backdrop

consuming a salt drenched shroud

that blends the blue grey stillness

hanging low across the sounds

where tides creep into inlets

in search of the singing sands;

quartz sirens of past times beckoning

 in the lee of an earlier land,

their song a beguiling summons;

a shimmering cadence she understands.

Such perfect imperfection

causes her heart and soul to stir,

her gaze soaring like the eagle,

from the edge of the ancient Sgurr

where the smouldering blue of the Cuillins

calls to the wilderness in her.

The Dancer

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On a canvas of sand

a dancer grooves with the tide

her wild windswept steps

pirouetting in time

to the beat of the breakers

and the spin drifting lift

choreographed by nature

beneath a dizziness of cliffs.

Earth’s Hourglass

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While squall lines etch with deft precision

their words upon the wind,

and ocean tides flash storm flecked eyes

between their rising brims,

and alpha rays ignite a haze

that fracture frozen rims,

our politicians ruminate

‘a situation grey’

but Earth can’t wait

for their debate

when resolutions stray,

for soon all our tomorrows

will end in yesterday…