Assail the Heavens

My soul sleeps,
Shrunk from the tides of life
Slid into tight hibernation.
A frozen time of suspension.
The time of longing has past
It is now a time of death,
In this winter of my life.
For I shall fade away
And a new spring shall dawn.
Soon recycling, rebrith.
The buds shall open to the sun.
The barren ground will bear new fruit
And my soul will thaw, awaken,
Breaking its fast, melting flesh;
Leaping forth and blaze to light.
Assail the heavens, be free.

poem by Paul Brookes
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When Death Finds Me

Elated I have dived to the depths,
Found the beauty in a leaf,
Bathed in the rainbow,
Gloried in the dawn,
Found solace in the rain,
Run with the wind.
I have heard the voice of the hills,
Seen a world in a blade of grass,
Sung duets with the birds.
I have let the stream of life
Whisk me away....tumbling
Wash me in the exquisite,
When death finds me,
As he does all,
I shall not be sad, .........
But content, for I have lived.

P. H. Brookes Copyright.2012

poem by Paul Brookes
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Unspoken

Sliding gently into silence,
Words are sucked dry,
Lie like dried insect husks
Divested of meaning.
Sounds lost in the chaos.
The noiselessness deafens.
Whistles screaming into oblivion.
The empty space between the lines,
These words unsaid yet explicit,
That swivel around the unspoken.
In that split of time, that void,
The inablity to unwrap, voice,
We are separated, walled off.
The corpse lies between us
Lying in cold mute misery.
We know our love has died

poem by Paul Brookes
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è stato bello finché è durato (It was nice while it lasted)

Seeing you again
Brought back the memories.
A flooding river, strong and swift.
Tripping memory lane.
A slow saunter through the past.
Each a picture, a memory set in amber,
Jewelled and shining.
Walks in the rain.
Or lying passion spent on tumbled sheets.
To talk and talk, yet when we met
I was struck dumb.
The magic in your smile.
Such treasures stored.
Yes my friend.
Then as quick as a summer shower
It was ended and you were gone.
But-
è stato bello finché è durato.

poem by Paul Brookes
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Entrances and Exits

Love entered quietly
Remarkable in its simplicity
Yet unmarked.
Unremarked, stealthily.
The event had no advent.
Uneventful.
Eventually it was noticed.
The start of an adventure,
That which had gone unnoticed.
Full of its self,
Self fulfilled,
Came to the fore.
Forward centre stage,
It staged its own event.
A play.
Play on words,
Put a word in.
The last word.
Sad word,
Password,

[...] Read more

poem by Paul Brookes
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Sceptics Tongue

Fill the empty void with misery
And strangle frantic hopes.
An incarnation of bitter joy
Our last meeting so drear and cold.
The conflagration of your letters of love
Lie cold in the hearth now but ashes,
An immolation of my hopes,
Become rock dashed dreams
Upon the alter of sacrifice.
Can I survive or bear
A winter dark, long and drear.
Are stretched polar nights now my lot?
No my sceptics tongue longs to deny
Or fails acceptance of your loss.

Copyright P H Brookes 2012

poem by Paul Brookes
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The Great Train Robbery

I'm not a guy wants to shirk
I just want to get to work.
But every morning just my luck
To be packed in cattle a truck.
Crushed and shaken to the bone,
Not enough space to use my phone.
The trains are dirty poor and slow,
Some never even make a show.
Everyday it just gets worse.
What have we done to be so cursed.
The price we pay is really high,
They'll keep on squeezing till we're dry
The amount we pay you must agree
Is just a great train robbery.

Copyright 2012 P H Brookes.

poem by Paul Brookes
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No Prizes (Stream VII)

Sucked deep down,
Down deep
In that pit.
Pitted against the black dog.
Pitied-
We who are trapped in the zoo.
Prize specimens,
Given no prizes.
A pity they don't see you
But see through you.
Transparent thin,
Thinly disguised.
Disguised as human,
This inhuman death,
Which is no death,
A living death.
Eaten away,
You look up and see
Mirrored in the glass,
The glass that separates,

[...] Read more

poem by Paul Brookes
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Winter II

Black against the white carpet
Branches whip like agitated fingers;
Silhouetted against the impossibly blue sky,
Caught in the watery pale winter sun
You cast your shadowed arms,
Against the gray drystone walls.
Crook back you are, and aged.
Many a winters tale you could tell
Of the icy winds that broke you.
'Twas no easy surrender to bend
To lean for support against the bank
For like me my silent old friend
Deep in your cold winter sleep
You are a survivor of the blasted heath.

poem by Paul Brookes
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Unrequited (Stream XIV)

To write of love
And how love makes us feel.
Love steals the heart.
Needing to steel oneself
From the arrows
Arrows which pierce the heart.
The arrows of Eros sometimes miss,
Of course,
Off course,
Hit the wrong target
And misfired
Lead to unrequited love.
That longing hurt.
That gnawing hunger.
Hungry for love
But love is blind
And they are blind to you
Having eyes for another.
You are left to pine.
Pining away

[...] Read more

poem by Paul Brookes
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