Shan Ellis - 2
CatharsisIt wasn’t an accomplishment,
laying in half cocked heather, dying grey as dawn shrouded final breaths, beads of dew glistening silvery webs rolling tracks down sodden cheeks. It was no effort holding that heart to rest in a myriath of broken promises and lies an Avalon too far to reach a hairs breath, exhaled, lost in watery mist. I thought I heard my name whispered just as the pale ray reached this mire, and I lost tomorrow hopelessly amidst the thrall of today. SilencedI am discontent
like the calling of twilight when it illuminates the dark cross of stone on the Cnicht. Some lowly animal howls its last in desperation below on cold crags. Alone, without a heartbeat to soothe longing, not a single touch to reassure, an invisible hand to cup a breast, only waxing moonlight, a cold companion on restless nights. Somewhere in the wilderness a kite screams, in the dark her cries are lost in translation, forgotten in the trickle of stream down to sea, brushed aside as wind tickles read, ink runs dry in the pen. All warmth radiated away, life sucked from barren marsh yet I hear our language breathe in silence. CrumbleNo instruction booklet.
Fumbling in darkness, awkward like thirty something year old babes listening for the knowing click of the child proof lids. A little adrenaline perhaps? our hands found each other caressed, explored strange, estranged strangely shy without urge of teenage hormones driving. Entice, slowly inhaling wafts of warm citrus skin heart rages breath ceases Lips crease Crumble
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Winter girl
Shadows a mass casting their remnants
gnarled around roots of ancient oaks, trees that sigh old tales, singed by dragons breath scarred by murderous history. Their skeletal fingers wave a final goodby before a yellowed disk always beyond our reach, looking down and recording annals of time, benevolently hapless. Jaundiced kisses of stars, fighting for their own place in the paling sky, voiceless entities, striving to be heard above the hoot of a stray owl hunting in these woods. The crunch of frost beneath haunting an echo, stirring old spirits to dance in the pant of frigid exhalation. As the dormouse scuttles to her den unconcerned but for feeding her brood, Why do I question the belljar of this cooling twilight under the stare of a silent disk? PoetessSolitary chewed end pencil
sedately perched on desk, yearning tap tap of fingers in thought waiting for rhythm and flow to return with the muse, missing in action hidden beneath a velour vail of strung together ideals. Tendrils of hair cling spiraling around her weapon of choice, her most precious object, collector of angsts tendrils thoughts accumulated in strings plucked from a weary scalp. Her art, forgotten? Scribbled forms in tatty Avant garde notepads battered dogeared doodles – Questioning her own reality against a tirade of other people’s ideas and ideals. These idiosyncratic semi autobiographical meanderings, an honest reflection of one woman’s perception, Or her illusion of what life is like through tired blue eyes. When nights cool
Dying day in grey light
hued sky on bruised lips, enlightened by a flicker- finger traced around lines of laughter. Pause, anticipation of steady breath, in moment post-heat, where words are void but silence sings vividly sending shivers down supine spine. Darkness undresses, gets into bed warming buried bones, languidly the lips brush, explore, rekindle a phoenix flame in these ashen nights, that grew so cold. |
