Paul Brookes

thin arc of bowed buttermilk moon shines like a sliver of cheese.

scudding silver sails of cloud elude capture
as the stars look down miffed and mysterious,
...

The future ain't what it used to be',
well the days get longer but the years shorter.
the cliched light at the end of the tunnel gets nearer;
...

rains incessant
all morning falls
skies fifty shades of grey
the gutters overflow, a Niagara
...

Slow, snow, go, well it rhymes at least.
a rest of a least twenty minutes is now required.
too much to write.
is everybody's a two minute wonder I wonder
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life graphs of ups and downs a chains of reason to capture man
to lose his very innocence
made mental madnesswith a circle of woven ice,
to freeze the fevered brain.
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What I miss about before, are hugs,
now we live hermetically sealed.

what I miss most about before, are smiles
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I learned a lesson early,
don't be seen.
wrap up tight into a hedgehog ball
spikes, spikes, spikes.
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sorry you are so underwhelmed,
the poet crashes from pedestal to earth
so a simple matter, we impact then smash, shall we rise again?
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all along the maypole the green mans face appears;
words and pages woven in pagan practices.
midsummer madness and particoloured fools
Morris and nine men dance bells a jingling
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oft times I'm accused of bitterness,
well, I maybe a tad world weary, that I'll admit to
and many a time disappointed
that's not bitter, just life experience.
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time liquid drips like bright pearl tears making hard rock weep.
fluxing elastic ever exponential moments, minutes, months, years
like eternities breathing outward its soft rhythm is our daily round.
...

When did we presume to move mountains?
drilling stone, stripped to the bone.
Terra is not so Firma anymore.
...

Sweat on his brow was not returned monetarily,
if it was he'd be a wealthy man.

hands hardened, tough as his spirit,
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the gravel crunches snapping at my heels
like snapping twigs and Autumn leaves
the rain has ceased but the bitter wind still blows
blowing the petals from wretched withered wreaths
...

Autumn came in sudden gusts of leaves
which whisk and rustle at the door
skies lead shaded water filled
streak rain across the windscreen
...

...

no longer owning a suit, a tie or shirt
returning to childhood, work's gone for good.
walking on white beaches collecting shells,
drawing pictures words in the sand with a stick
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Strike dreams out
bed hard frozen
frost came killed the roses
leaves drip
...

It came complete with no explanations
outer layer intact.

not Ikea I thought this ones been built already,
...

It is sad when poets hate other poets
a poem is an expression from the heart
of thoughts and feeling of love and joy,
so poets be kind.
...