Peter Lindsey
holm
where the heart is
an island steadfast washed by warm-stone light a flood of dry tears fallen in this copse of dreams pricked in waking the blood of a life shared runs into furrows of tomorrows behind Hesiod’s plough. the weight of this now this quiet is nature’s logic. amid
light falls
across a wet warm sky summer’s broad brushstroke fades to a giotto gold a near-to-clotting red season’s blood transfused the unbroken line splashed by equinoctial tears a deciduous hemorrhage of infinite leaves leavings that blur ever again into fall’s light |
Haiku
a magpie
takes wing greyscale rainbow cobalt cuts my line of vision horizon’s blade in a corner all the angles lead to longing the square root of always never is hammering nails into this september fall’s relentless leaves anvil
dropped rain slides
down the arc of time’s hammering stroke love’s luxation her stigmata bleed anti-clockwise spotting that beautifully sad curve becoming a line of memory |
denmark
when I dropped the shell
the waves crashed a stained-glass sea drowned the white noise of slow acceleration blood bled thick from a heart as pure as a memory of snow in summer resonance
keen the gull
wheeling cries sound trickles down branches blurred a percussive past the recollection of that then pierces this now ♢ |