Biography

I love to write poetry as a creative outlet, and have had some of my poems published in "Rubies In The Darkness", "Midnight Times", and "Velvet". I especially love to write poetry with paranormal themes. Occasionally, in the past, I've read my poetry out during poetry nights at my favourite pub, the fantastically olde-worlde, 17th-century built "The Old Boar's Head", (a haunted one-time coaching inn), which is in Middleton, near Rochdale.

Samples

Molpes Bride

You are the woman
loved by the mermaid
drowning in her embrace
as your heart’s amelt with love

You carry her round with you;
her shade, gold-tressed, - her ocean dew,
glittering on your hair;
her white pearls rare,
cascading from your soul and
besheening your skin.
You’ve coral within,
and jewels from a shipwreck.

Wherever you walk, you inspire with the echo
of her song;
your ringlets, long, transform into seaweed.
Deep fathoms speak from your eyes.
Then peal out the dolphins cries.

You are the woman,
who reigns the seas true mistress.
Will you be my harbour?
__________________________________

Silver Rose

bats hover past the willows
an owl hoots in the dusk
sweet through the twilight shadows,
a dressing-table's musk
past opened mullioned windows,
sits prinks a damsel fair,
twining a silver silk rose,
into her long lush hair

silver rose
raised by only moonlight
silver rose
grown in midnight's garden
cast your scent
through dark's waves shine shimmer
for you know
your destiny must grow
within shadow

silver vases of violets
a snow-white powder puff
hearts-of-lace-framed verses
cream-coloured mules of fluff
air begins to vibrate;
a wraith floats on that breeze;
misty quaint wasp-waisted,
pulsating tranquil ease

silver rose
blossom now in moonlight
silver rose
beacon through the darkness
cast your spell
far and wide shine shimmer
now you know
the reasons why you glow
within shadow

________________________


Dream In Ruffles And Lace

Dream In Ruffles And Lace,
don't stir.
With your hair like a lamb's long fleece,
Rolling over your bosom's white, foamy waves, sleep.
Though mists swirl outside your bedroom lattice,
And above them, the moon looms full.

Dream in ruffles and lace,
just sleep.
Though a dog howls in a yard nearby,
Just breathe, your sweet breath out, don't cry.
Thus shimmer the silver flowers,
Embroidered on your nightgown's froth.

Dream, your peaceful dreams,
While something at your bed's foot stirs.
Relive, watching the swans gliding in the glade;
Lately, your compelled tending of a stranger's grave;
And all your cosy, pretty girlish delights.
A black shape rises at the foot of your bed, but, be calm.
It hovers - huge, and swelling - don't alarm.

Though a bat zig-zags squeaking over your chest,
Moonbeams glint from the cross near your throat.
And soon, the scent of violets fills the air,
and the room lightens, grey fog slipping through the casement,
by your Virgin's altar there.

And, now she's here.
The woman you saw in your dressing-table mirror,
in recent candlelight. Small, slight, with bell-shaped skirt,
Black ringlets glossy by her pallid neck.
A cross is near her throat,
A testament in her hand,
And still, the faint lingering of grave-earth's about her;
White poppies edge her veil.
Perhaps, tonight, you will dream of her.

________________________________


Nurturing Night

In an old cottage, roofed with thatch,
she dreams beneath the moon.
A long-haired blonde, in ruffled white,
seventeen that June.
And as she dreams, night brings escape,
from scholarly irons, and competitive hate,
for energies stir, through all in that place,
drifting through curtains of lace.

(drifting through curtains,
drifting through curtains,
drifting through curtains,of lace).

Mists are swirling in the marsh,
close by the garden gate.
A black cat steps down an old oak tree,
to the faerie wench who waits.
An owl is hooting, and past the moon,
three bats now hover, a weird triune,
and winds do roam, and rustle the grass,
down to where few footsteps pass.

(down to where few footsteps,
down to where few footsteps,
down to where few footsteps pass).

A clear call has been made;
subconsciously, responsively;
and from it's grave, glides a shade,
to the maid's bedside, by sympathy swayed ...

Fragments linger, in her mind,
as daybreak tints the fields.
Dressing, weary, sad, alone,
to discipline she yields.
But all that day, she'll know the face,
the quaint-toned voice, and the languid grace,
of one, she thinks, was only a dream,
born upon a moonbeam.
Born, upon a moonbeam.

____________________

Drifting

drifting
drifting always
never a harbour for me
never a beacon to see

no land for me
no shore to softly lead me home
the waves and scourging sky alone
wearily I roam

Who cursed my soul,
to wander this world regarded not?
Unseen misjudged en-menaced my lot,
and yet I accept my Fate.

Somewhere shines a candle in a window for me:
there's beauties untold 'midst the depths of the sea;
and the mermaids, now the mermaids,
will love me.

___________________

All poems are copyright of the originating author. Permission must be obtained before using or performing others' poems.