All my books

In my book of dreams
There are one thousand themes
A thousand genres
That write an epic
In my book of thoughts
There are one thoughts knots
That tie the fate
Of one poor orphan
In my book of ideas
There are one thousand seers
Who predict the future of
An unwell land
In my book of songs
There are one thousand wrongs
To balance every single
Little tight
In my book of plays
There are on thousand ways
A thousand paths
To walk down
In my book of years
There are one thousand angel tears
That captured the essence
Of the evil beast
In my book of myths
There are one thousand will'o'the'whisps
That lead the young girl
To her mother.
In my book of love
There is a single dove
Who brings the story
With her
To all those who will listen.
In my book of hate
Its too late
And the story lies forgotten
Never read.

Extract from "Zoltan" tentative title.

I looked at my brother proudly. My small fourteen-year old heart pounded in my chest, the spirit of all our people with me. At my side I felt the presence of my uncle, likewise as happy as me but more cautious of our presence in the Principalian crowd, and the others behind me. As a group we were the white snow in a blanket of summer, staring up at the procession and following them with glee.

People stared at me, but I did not care. I called out to Frederik with cheerful glee, shouting at him, "Fred, Fred!" and he waved back as he rode past.

The bannerman who had initially bumped into me struggled to get further away, but with the crowd to one side and the procession to the other he could only suffer my joy. My wave blocked part of his vision, my flag blocked his as I waved it erratically, and around us people let out small gasps. But what could you do when you were young, barely a beginner mage and irrevocably and irreversibly admiring of your older brother?

The crowd and the bannerman would just have to suffer and wait. It was my time to love who I was and where I was from, along with my companions who were the lone Narvegans in this ocean of Prominenes.

Things

The love I bear for thee
Is beyond the realms of knowledge
Somewhere in the cosmos
Is a machine that can process
The tenth percent
Then it will suffocate
And die
There is nothing more than existence
Of magma, galaxies and stars
Nurseries, births and deaths
Lego men standing tall
Elves of green and flowers
Yet none of them can compare
To the extraordinary depth of what
Love actually means.

Heart of things

At the heart of everything
There is a love
At the heart of pain
There is a voice
At the heart of suffering
There are two eyes
And two hands
Bloody and tortured that
Hold themselves out to yours
Saying
"It's okay. It's okay."
It's the heart of things that
Give a peace
It's at the heart of things
That hope is found
Those dark immortal eyes
Those blood-soaked hands
And that voice
"Its okay, love, my child dear
Its all okay."

He

Strong heart
Never letting go
Devining rod
The one in the know
Eyes of fire
Heart for the brave
Coming home
People to save

Spent Whilst Canoodling.

Matchless
Hatchless
How can you
Go bury the hatchet
Catch it
Match it
Hold it
I can't compare you
To a
Summer's day
M'dear
Love it a tangled web of
Lust and truth and
My darling dear

Sharlto

Today, tonight, when on a farm
I was out walking far and wide
By me was a great gentle dog
With onyx eyes and soft brown hide

Though he was kind and he was fine
But he had a friend oh so small
A little terrier, midget and scruff
Who found a bird against a wall

The bird was a grey pigeon male
Who was as frightened as a hare
I took the dogs home to save him
Then returned to a terror stare

Those eyes of fear made me sigh
The cock got up, fluttered to get away,
As I reached out to touch his breast
But he is sorrowfully there to stay

His broken wing is of no more use
His legs are strong but nature, old
And fox, or owl, or starvation come,
He will die before night is cold

So I write this poem just right now
As I come home from letting go
I am sad to say I left him there
Yet I granted him a name - Sharlto