Like Larkin

I’m often prone to outbursts of poetry. I really should learn how to write it.  

  Lost in translation. 

The Loneliness of the Long Distance Lover

You’re never alone if you have a cat. I don’t have a cat.

The Ballad of Henry Hughes

There once was a girl
from north of the border
who sent me money by postal order
and though I couldn’t wash her pans or pots,
touch her blankets or door knobs,
she touched my life from miles away
and I miss her
like it was yesterday.

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© D. Archer. January 2016

More fun with sharp objects

CelticBirds_IMG_0946

More fun with sharp objects. Celtic birds. Soon to be printed in various shades of success. I bought some cheap photo frames and am looking forward to finally getting some previous efforts framed and mounted. Approximate finished size will be around 6 x 6 inches. I’ll post pictures of the print when my blood pressure has returned to normal.

Please excuse the state of my cutting mat, it has other uses.

© D. Archer. April 2015

Birdsong

From the wrong side of the slow burned bridge,
at the edge of the rook black wood,
where giant thoughts used to dwell
she makes no plans for tomorrow
as she picks flowers for her daily grave.

The house, quiet as a failing marriage
stands alone in a bleached, peeling memory
under water coloured clouds.

She weeps for the summers passing,
the shortest of shadows
and the length of his kiss.

© D. Archer. March 2015.

Anonymous

Love lies in the roughest sea,
in the smallest hours,
in a one oared boat,
not in the anonymous promises
of those that lure in calm waters
as sirens circle in the undertow;
soon the unwinding begins
the rope that proffers salvation
forms a seductive silk noose around your neck
and be it by category or allegory
the search for your lungs in another
will only one day leave you
out of breath.

© D. Archer. January 2013. Tweaked in February 2015.

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

Evensong

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