Foggy Whisper

There’s a kernel of truth in a whisper that hides between pursed lips
Its mist fogs icy stares that sink as its air rises to new depths
On that dew which blew from wet lips
Tender words trek though a wilderness of the faintly familiar to find their way home
Lost and in need of shelter they hide in ugly corners
Beneath superlatives and expletives far from Grandma’s house
Pitched and tented on hostile grounds
Complements sleep with one eye open
As the framework for peaceful resolution becomes ever-elusive
In the meantime, soft sounds grease grinding ears
Waiting for a smoother and more comforting process
But words that aren’t heard
make no noise when they fall in the forest

The Colour of Chance

A coloured chancer danced on blazing pin tips
Pretty face behind the needles
Unnecessary quips
Revelers in rhetorical jargon
Speak pretty lies squeezed from accurate misunderstandings


Kisses blow through winds from the thin breeze
Droplet bleed cuts of blue
Imagine an Amber princess, draped and golden
Her romanticism burrows through callous flesh
A thin vein pumps fire through hearts
An icy tear drop scorches fire
Thy tiara has begun to tarnish


Blessed paupers who wash their own feet
Their private wars shed our dignity
Sour grapes make sweet wine


From the windowsill soft eyes stare coldly
The cold world whispers back warmly
And the chancer wonders,
But never does