Dreams made real

What words can I give you tonight
to place under your pillow,
to rest your head against the world
and dream of our tomorrow?

How can I speak of love
when it is but a fraction of what I feel,
why should I live in dreams
when I have you
and you are real.

© D. Archer December 2013


In the evening, after breakfast,
as the distance falls away,
silhouettes in the poor light
make my heart rich
and though sight with touch is a double-edged sword
it is softened by the sounds of love
I freely breathe in.

© D. Archer December 2013

As the moon pulls the tide

In the tunnel
between the cheap radio signal
and the windscreen’s respite from the rain
I hear you talking like an auctioneer,
singing your song in the first person
of a new love that
of all others will erase.

You stockpile your metaphors and memories
in fear and apprehension
for lover too soon fades into friend,
just as the moon pulls the tides from the beach
we are all waiting for something,
be it beginning,
the end.

© David Archer. June 2013

Wake Up Call

I want to wake up
facing a face not a wall;
this is my waking dream
not another sleepless metaphor.

© D. Archer. November 2012

Note: Strange how sometimes we wake up with words in our heads, quite unusual for me so I thought I’d commit it to paper before I forgot. 

The Cinder Path

The touch of my own hand draws weary,
long gone the soft skin of another
that would in street or field squeeze
between my ungloved fingers
a head turning smile
that had no needs for words.

Once the cinder path would make the only sound,
uniform under foot we walked our own pace,
oblivious to life’s diverging reasons;
now the clock between us says the most
and we find ourselves painfully lost
in the middle of a sentence
that is mirrored only
by the depth of the season.

I, alone, open my eyes
and inhale the weather just to see
the last leaf falling from the giving tree,
the demise of autumn,
the remains of regrets that lie on my tongue
will feed me through the winter
as I withdraw from the light
and hibernate from love.

© D. Archer. October 2012


Party of One

From the corner of the room
where even the shadows hide from themselves,
along with the remains of the day
and everything worth saying, I stand
as close as the paper to the wall,
listening to your smile.

© D. Archer. September 2012

Shel Silverstein

With time to spare I thought i’d post some YouTube clips for Shel Silverstein. I was introduced to him recently by a good friend and I often find myself returning to his works when I feel the need to re-connect.

I hope you enjoy the video and the wonderful words of a master storyteller.


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