he is his own worst enemy

On stranger tides, the enemy moving closer than he thought; creeping up like a shadow. Cannons fully loaded, barrels overflowing, set up and aimed. Fog and mist making the deed harder than it ought to be. The captain won’t hold back, when in his short history has he ever made a wrong step? A cock sure captain. The smell of gunpowder locked in his nostrils, his heart galvanising, the twitch of his soiled fingertips stimulating the fuse alight in his veins. Sweat beads dripping off his long hooky nose, his eyes squaring through the eyeglass. The smoggy weather so unpredictable and alive, the cardiac muscle has contracted the gunpowder in his blood stream.

 FIRE!  …

The weather caused no hesitation. He smiled to himself for the destruction was clear; he’d only known a life of destruction. The haze made it more of a challenge, a life without games and challenges was no life for him. Viewing the sea to admire his destruction, a queer feeling arose in the pit of his stomach, his eyes as large as if he’d been on opium. the captains heart numb, as if stabbed by tiny icicles; the ruin closer to home than he could ever of imagined. For the captain recognised the dainty baby blue hanky dancing in the hot wind.

breakfast with Holly Golightly

from experience time heals the blues, but also creates them.

having the mean reds looking up at the blue moon.

 

 

time is the biggest catastrophe

, yet it doesn't exist. 

That freckle on your upper lip - a poem by me.

Sweet love, young love, not merely as young as we
thought,
a kind of love that haunts us both,
at night,
at dawn.

We can get through the day,

but not alone,
for our memories keep each other still,
that slow dance we shared, that letter we wrote
and both kept safe.

I try and refute it – I am at the point

of despair
things left unsaid, things better not said,
so reckless with your ways.

That stained sheet, that same dinner we shared,

that I eat over and over again, without you,
those dates on the calendar that are thus
insensitive to my heart.

Unspoken requited love, malicious and cruel –
audacious, long- suffering moody,
this love is sweetly sour; I don’t know if I prefer it?
i do know that when my mind is at its most erratic,
the thought of you sobers it sane.