Porcelain
cold spills of rain
magpies fly
always searching with the light
always dreaming until dawn
when I wake and think you’re here
coffee on the stove
pale light over the stove
I would often think of you
dark mornings just before dawn
standing in this spot – you’d make mine with hot milk
the pain of coffee much to hot to drink
the ache of winter haunts my hands
when I close my eyes I cannot see you any more
cold and spills of rain
the music porcelain plays again
(inspired by the music of Helen Jane Long)
-Wordsilk
reminding me of words like
border line
crescent and coyote
ancient timbers
polished smooth as kisses
paradise
abandoned eyes of shipwrecked sailors
a myriad of pin prick suns
flightless birds
remembering something Spanish that you said along a twilight
turquoise
Ishmael to Ishmael
all the nights we've ever known
not bothering the quiet.
Morgan Knows
The night has its own creatures
Familiars like foxes, bats,
Owls, green eye cats
And others more unique,
Those without a day time shape
Shifting shadow colour forms
Billow through dissolving walls
Entwined upon her outstretched arms
Fed on darkness through the night
Until there’s nothing left but light
born and raised in usa. living for past
ten years in ireland. have been writing
and living to the best of my ability for
a while now.
-
ten years in ireland. have been writing
and living to the best of my ability for
a while now.
-
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