No Femme Fatale

Sitting in a corner glass in hand
She sips ruby red full bodied wine.
Carefully made up to hide the years
To hide the sorrow and the tears.
The scarlet lip and deep kohled eye
Hair arranged and skilfully dyed.
She waits to be saved.
Saved from life.
Saved from herself,
But no saviour comes.
Just a succession of one night stands.
Her soul so cheaply bought
Was dearly sold.
She had such dreams a life fulfilled
But all hope of this now stilled
And in her heart she truly knows
That winter come and she is cold.

Copyright P H Brookes 2012.

poem by Paul Brookes
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The Path of Dreams

Oh Morpheus shaper of dreams
You come to me in soft shod feet;
A thousand steps into darkness.
Tunneling down into slumber
To that secret golden place
Your many chambered rooms.
Each a door to realms of night
To where reality ends,
A place between dimensions
Where I fly, walk under the sea,
Be angel or devil, a rain of tears,
An ocean in a dropp of water,
A planet in a grain of sand.
A surreal paradise or a firey hell
A highway in the kingdom of sleep.
To follow the silver thread to wake
But remember not.

P H Brookes Copyright 2011

poem by Paul Brookes
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Soldiers Rest

This mound of earth, now greened o'er;
Such a small plot for his large spirit.
We all come to this small space,
Or else are set free in the playful air
By those left to mourn our passing.
The small deeds of the anonymous,
Are by history soon forgotten;
Yet upon these backs great deeds were done.
Yet those who gaze down history's path,
They only see bright luminaries;
Not this simple soul who lies here now.
Beneath this bright daisy sprinkled lawn
Neath a stone that bears no name
Crumbling and grey with age
And soon to tumble into dust.

poem by Paul Brookes
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Sound Floats Across Water

Sound floats across water.
Water falls steadily.
Steadily skitters down drains
To drain energy.
Drain away existence.
The slow churning river we call life,
Churning ever on,
On to oblivion.
Oblivious the river flows
Drowns out the human cry.
Relentless in its rush to the sea.
See it empty,
Empty us,
Drown us.
Sink us with a wash of disappointment.
Washing our souls clean.
Washing us away.
Clean off the earth's face.
Faced with oblivion.
Forgotten we forget.

[...] Read more

poem by Paul Brookes
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Nightmare

What are these nightmare thoughts
That keep at bay the slumbering night.
Where no sweet dreams me do attend,
And all a tangle in my sheets
Do toss and turn infernally.
My pillows scattered on the floor
Like snow white islands upon the sea.
Oh wretched night I do you fear,
Sore wishing for the light to come,
So that all my doubts and fears shall fly.
Burnt away by the blessed sun.
But then all day I live in terror of the night;
A living wakeful dread.
I fear the dark descending
And the tolling of the midnight bell.

P H Brookes Copyright 2012 ©

poem by Paul Brookes
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The Sun Still Rises

The sun still rises in dawn display,
The moon still traverses the sky
And earth spin from night to day.
The oceans still toss spumes of spray,
I still breath, heart still beat,
Blood course inexorably on its way.
But my world has frozen, stilled,
A photographic unthawed moment,
Etched in acid that cannot move on.
Is this the glaciated shock of death?
That numbs, immobilizes thought.
And eyes once warm and loving
Turned to mirrors of hardened water.
To pour these bitter salted tears.
To ask why the sun still rises?

Oct 21st 1995

P H Brookes Copyright 2011

poem by Paul Brookes
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Repairman

He rose from the ruins,
Scarred though he was,
Of the house she destroyed.
Tentative this new construction
Rising out the ashes.
Each brick cemented in with care.
Built from blood, sweat, tears and joy;
Sweetly leavened with a touch of love.
A work in progress never complete
Yet not his house alone,
For we are all formed by committee.
Everyone who touches our life,
A parent, teacher, lover or friend.
For at intersections where we meet
A brick, window, door, plank or nail is added.
Some good, some bad.
Adding or subtracting to the whole.
We bear the scars and survive.

poem by Paul Brookes
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Consumed (Stream III)

The consumer consumed
Like a snake eating its tail.
The worm in the bud,
The rotten apple,
Rotten to the core,
No core.
A corpse eaten inside out.
Outside the circle,
Circling in for the kill,
Killing time
Time to kill.
We slowly die
Outside in,
In need,
We are addicted.
Waiting for our next fix,
Try to fix it
Mr Fix It.
We're in a fix.
With fixed gaze

[...] Read more

poem by Paul Brookes
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Unquiet Soul

Why do you write these self destructive verses
Slashing at your unquiet soul in icy solitude;
Crying in your wilderness of angst ridden pain,
There is a bleakness to your life that cools the sun,
Blankets you in shades of your own misery,
To live in the blackness of the inky night.
Hopeless you are, blind to the light, deaf to loves call.
Let me open your cage, illuminate your night,
Bring you into the joyfulness life.
Awaken you from your long sleep with a tender kiss
Warm you in the gentle heat of my love
Bring you into the light and set you free.

P H Brookes Copyright 2011

poem by Paul Brookes
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The First Time

We walked hand in hand down
The green tunnel of an English lane.
Traceries of leaves shed a patterned shade
In the greened cathedral that spanned
The heavens in verdant shades.
Those great boughed arches
Thrusting sky ward hungry for sun.
Ornaments of subtle shifting light
Dappling the silver path below.
As we trekked up the hill, breathless
We emerged into the glourious light.
The valley below greeted us,
Swagged in its summer clothes.
The earth seemed poised, time stopped
An eternity of space, a golden moment
There you said loved me for the first time

P H Brookes Copyright 2011

poem by Paul Brookes
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