blog, Pat Aitcheson writes, poetry

mark the spot

fire-X_darksouls1
darksouls1 via pixabay

glances across the room slide away half smiles
(gravitating into orbit)

pulse stutters close enough to touch don’t
(slide fingertips against my palm)

warm breath against my neck goosebumps bloom
(close the distance cross the line)

exploring gentle passion
(see taste savour)

dance a sensual tango back and forth
(push pull resist yield)

all of me and more
(take everything)

together let’s uncover
hidden treasures off the map

blog, Pat Aitcheson writes, poetry

Night moves

child-moon_Mysticsartdesign
Mysticsartdesign via pixabay

Every single night he calls me–
Let’s play hide and seek.
Stepping just ahead so slowly,
close your eyes, don’t peek.

If you look beyond the shadow
past the weary ghost
see, right there. I really do know
what you need the most.

Oh I know he doesn’t mean it
fooled me yet again.
Never catch him for a minute;
sleep’s a losing game.

 

audio, blog, Pat Aitcheson writes, poetry

Thoughts at three

night sleep_cdd20
cdd20 via pixabay

listen: 

I’m longing for oblivion, a temporary respite
from all the stuff that’s spinning through my brain, night after night.
What can I do when nothing seems to help me slip away
from everything that clutters up my mind, day after day?

I’ve tried all of the recommended old wives tales and tips.
From four o’clock no caffeine is allowed to pass my lips
but white noise drives me crazy, so warm bath and black eye mask
is what I tried. Alas no luck. Is it too much to ask
for a few hours escape from all the worries that I’m feeling
that keep me far from sleep, as I stare up at the dark ceiling?

audio, blog, Pat Aitcheson writes, poetry

Yellow

poem #5 in the colour series

daisy centre
ekamelev via pixabay

listen: 

Cheerful daisies turn their faces upwards.
Big sun, bright heart reflected in egg yolk centres
And mirrored in the humblest things.
Life energy lights the sky
and falls to earth, yet not diminished.
Instead its littler twin multiplies its force.

As above, so below.
For what I see, I can be.
And though I am ever so small
the universe
is contained within me.

 

audio, blog, Pat Aitcheson writes, poetry

Under a crying sky

red tulip petals
AnnaD via pixabay

listen to this poem: 

See there, the sunny uplands
of what could be
see here, the barren wasteland
of what came to be

the space between, under a crying sky
is brim full of splintered dreams, of lost hopes
and bitter grains of disappointment
of what will never be

blog, Pat Aitcheson writes, poetry

Love shackles

(a villanelle)

chain-red link_PIRO4D
PIRO4D via pixabay

Listen to this poem: 

We’re joined by an invisible chain
we try and fail to pull apart;
each link is forged of joy and pain.

Emotions overcame my brain.
Hopelessly smitten at the start,
we’re joined by an invisible chain

that weighs so little. Yet in vain
I try to free my restless heart.
Each link is forged of joy and pain.

What is the use if I complain
about this fate I can’t outsmart?
We’re joined by an invisible chain.

Let’s tally up the loss and gain
of taking Cupid’s poisoned dart.
Each link is forged of joy and pain

so here we are, and must remain.
We wait until death do us part.
We’re joined by an invisible chain,
each link is forged of joy and pain.

audio, blog, Pat Aitcheson writes, poetry

Red

#4 in the colour series

Red peppers
Hans via pixabay

Listen to this poem:

 

Blood running hot, and never cold
it presses forward, always bold
calling us on to run and fight
propelling legs as they take flight
and for one moment stop and think.
Then the next instant to the brink
of madness.

The red eyes are blind
to all that’s gentle, good or kind.
A teasing swish, matador’s cape
will goad the bull. There’s no escape
from spears embedded in his back
that prod him to futile attack.

And down his skin run rivers red,
his life poured out and painted dead.

We feel the ruby pulsing heat
within our chests with every beat
of every crazed deluded heart,
so sure that this is just the start
of something lasting, fine and true,
of you and me.

I always knew
that red would overwhelm this love.

Though lovers gaze at stars above
and whisper declarations soft,
these ideals that they hold aloft
soon fall to earth.
Nothing to say.

Unbridled passions win the day
over mere intellectual words
when feelings fly like scattered birds
and reason flees.

All that remains
is quivering flesh and dripping veins
left hollow by an anguished flood
of passion, anger, rage, and blood.

Follow the heart, obey the head.
Go fast, full stop; now quick, now dead.