In a rented room
filled with words unsaid
my white clock died a death
slipping silently
from constant to defunct;
whilst time and time again reminds me
between synchronised second hands
there was a you and I
there was a we, an us;
now of time to come I care little
yet of lovers lost I still feel, still dream;
only yesterday there were two clocks
now a solitary nail points
to where my heart used to be.

© D. Archer May 2012

White Star

Akin a cageless mockingbird
after she bathes she sings
to a room full of reminders
where our horizon met its end and
an endless grey sky now begins;

You who loved as a verb
you who loved until it hurt
How can I not think of you
as I hold your eponymous pen
and feel the gravity
of her black skinned,
white starred curves.

© D. Archer May 2012

Mathematically yours

How heavy is the number five?
What colour is the square root of nine?

How much I love you
words cannot express;
it lays for now on the horizon
and then in every shared breath.

© D. Archer April 2012


all words made real

only September’s breeze between us
distance no longer our concern,
we two feel the weight
of the wait of the overture
that for too long
has only been words.

Impervious to the surrounding sound
we stand
eyes open to the bliss
one last stolen breath
before a thousand sonnets
are whispered on secret skin.

Then kiss where once only
fingerprints soft traced
and long forgotten the time apart
surpassed by the ecstasy
of loves first taste.

© D. Archer March 2012


Warmed by the sun
three years before the decade changed
in the school-less summer
of my youth
solitary, simply games I played
in childhood abandon
oblivious of you;

I was nine
and you a newborn
you cried at first life
and I at my sunburn
in that my loneliest, longest,
formative summer
you were soundless to me
yet you spoke deeply to your mother;

You grew and loved
often pushed your heart pulled
hardly heard, loud shouted down
but always somewhere making sounds
you cast with care into the stratosphere
knowing decades later
it would be you
I would hear.

© D. Archer March 2012

Mocking bird

I’ll think of you
in the English summer,
I’ll think of you
in the English rain;
if I can’t talk to you
for just one minute
I’ll write a thousand letters every day;

If you return to the life
that holds you down
and keeps you caged
you will always be my mocking-bird
and I will feed you
till you sing again.

Through playtime and philosophy
books unread,
films unseen;
two steps forward
sideways, back;
we shared like lovers
in the dark;

is the horizon slowly sinking
under the wait
of the distance still to go?;
like a million lovers
long before us;
the heart says “Yes”,
the head says “No”

© D. Archer February 2012

Would you? Could You?

Would you? Could You
let me in,
to co-write the chapter
of where we begin?

Would you? Could You
bookmark the past,
and face the future
fears unmasked?

Would you? Could You
in the park
feed on picnics
until it got dark?

Would you? Could You
help me do my taxes,
as music plays
then hands distract us?

Would you? Could You
in the shower
make every second
seem like an hour?

Would you? Could You
walk the room
just so I
could watch you move?

Would you? Could You
still be English,
fill my ears
with your girlish giggling?

Would you? Could You
snort down your nose,
send me pictures
of your toes?

Would you? Could You
hold my hand
though the rain is heavy;
the future unplanned?

Would you? Could You
love me as I am,
your here and now
and your tomorrow man?

© D. Archer February 2012