Perfume Trail
Only memories shreds remain.
A tinge of scent,
A perfume trail,
A butterfly rustle
From watered silk.
An echo of her laughter,
A reverberated memory,
Where now silence heavy lies
And solemn shadows dwell.
Her things lie where dropped
Dust draped, abandoned,
Waiting vainly for her return.
The pots and powders
That were her beauty aids
Bereft, no more needed,
For she has gone;
To lie in her deep bed
In cool funereal earth.
Copyright P H Brookes 2012
poem by Paul Brookes
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Departed
The house lies empty
Hovering on edges of my senses
The faint trace your scent
As if you have just slipped out the room
Soon to return.
Pick up where you left off.
The shelves are powdered with dust
Grey as my thoughts.
The room lies cold, barren,
Dead, for your spirit is absent.
A book lies open where you left it
The story stalled never to be finished
But yours has ended.
And I, I still have mine to finish.
Copyright P H Brookes 2012
poem by Paul Brookes
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Fallen Marker
A construct de-constructed
Scattered.
Demolished.
Marble carved words
Muddled now,
Muddied.
Problematic,
No translation,
An undecipherable code.
Soon the wind will blow
And the words will be dust.
Erased from memory.
Mixed in earth.
Lost.
P H Brookes Copyright 2012
poem by Paul Brookes
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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No Care (Stream XIX)
Here where no one cares,
Careworn she lies sick in the fetid air.
The sick room smell, lies rank upon her.
And she so sick, tries to rise,
But some immovable force holds her down
Too sick to rise.
No angel ministers her fevered brow
Nor comes with swift and gentle aids.
Like old news she lies forgotten
Abandoned, useless, broken.
No progeny from her barren womb
To ease her passage through old age.
Or send her a loving last farewell
A kiss to ease her on the road to her demise.
And he she loved with tender care
Gone, lost in a war these long years past.
Footsteps pass her door
And feebly she calls out,
No answer comes.
No foot across her threshold falls,
Forgot by all,
She dies alone.
P H Brookes Copyright 2012
poem by Paul Brookes
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Visions
Kaleidoscopic visions of you
Flash fleetingly or ride majestically
On the cusp of my mind
In a rush of disjointed pictures.
The stark bare bones of your life;
The sum of its days.
Its tricle of hours.
Held fast like an insect in amber
Marching to your hearts tattoo
To conjuror the past - a replay.
Half remembered conversations.
A touch, a taste and kisses
Butterfly light that tingled the soul.
Your bright eyes, soft hair.
Settling the past into focus.
A flash of colour.
That emerald green dress.
As you danced carefree and joyous
Like you skipped in and out of my life
Leaving only the echo of your laughter.
Until one day you were absent.
To become a pale memory
Leaving only secondhand images.
A faded photographs.
Living only in the memory.
Copyright P H Brookes 2012
poem by Paul Brookes
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Broken Promises
Promises broken like glass
Shattered to lie at her feet
For all she got was lies, deceit.
This was a life of disappointments.
Love slid, water through her fingers,
To puddle at her feet as tears.
Decieved by a beautiful lie;
Left with the shreds of love.
Promises broken like glass.
P H Brookes Copyright 2012
poem by Paul Brookes
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No Obituaries
Hot words spat in anger.
Things he wished not said,
But genie like out the bottle.
Nipped from the heart.
It lay there between them
This last murdered piece of love.
To late for resuscitation
It lies dead and cold.
No obituaries needed.
P H Brookes Copyright 2011
poem by Paul Brookes
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Requiem
Our friendship needed tending
Like a garden kept weed free.
Watered and fed, protected.
Yet we starved it of affection
Let it die, turned it to a desert.
Too late for revival it lies as dust.
No requiem just a corpse unmourned.
poem by Paul Brookes
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Joy Will Return
When in a pit of deep despair
And no light pierces the dark.
Remember there will be a day
When joy will return.
When hopeless tears are shed
And life seems bitter, dead.
Remember there will be a day
When joy will return
When days seem drear and sad
And you feel you'll never laugh.
Remember there will be a day
When joy will return.
Then suddenly the day will dawn
And you give that first guilty laugh.
You will know deep inside,
Though won't admit,
Joy has returned
P H Brookes Copyright 2011
poem by Paul Brookes
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Beauty and Beauty
When Beauty and Beauty meet
All naked, fair to fair,
The earth is crying-sweet,
And scattering-bright the air,
Eddying, dizzying, closing round,
With soft and drunken laughter;
Veiling all that may befall
After - after -
Where Beauty and Beauty met,
Earth's still a-tremble there,
And winds are scented yet,
And memory-soft the air,
Bosoming, folding glints of light,
And shreds of shadowy laughter;
Not the tears that fill the years
After - after -
poem by Rupert Brooke (1913)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Things Long Stored
I remembered the scent
It floated on the air
Following her into the crowd.
It clung to my nose.
And sang in my blood.
Inundated my mind
Washed it with memories
Things long stored;
Of kind warm nights,
Softness of laundered sheets;
Of mother and perfumed hugs.
Those fleeting goodnight kisses
Soft from her fragrant lips.
How the light played on russet hair
And caught the mischief of her smile
As she tripped out the door
In a blaze of rustling silks,
Like Cinderella off to the ball.
Rising from the dusty warehouse of my mind
It all floods back as if yesterday,
And she long gone lives again.
P H Brookes Copyright 2012
poem by Paul Brookes
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A Memory Shall Flow
Into a melody, a memory shall flow
Guided by an echo, and, ever so slow
O're to the mountains, t'is dancing on a breeze
T'is the echo laughing with the trees.
Into the sky to the path of the unknown
A great many memories, o're the miles have flown
Remember an echo has a memory in tow
T'is yours for the picking, t'is yours to show.
Into an echo conducting its humble chores
When to look upon a memory is completely yours
Building a mountain of memories an echo's test
To pick from a tree, the memories I like best.
poem by M. Rene Riel
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Plaintive Night
The evening lay hot and sticky.
I lay wakeful, sleepless and fretful
Drowning in the sultry heat.
The sounds of eventide drifted in
To ooze across my open window.
As I listened with attentive ear,
Each errant sound was carried to my bed
By the winds gentle proposition.
She gently trembled silken curtains to rustle.
A disembodied voice in the plaintive night,
To bring the pungent scents of the frangipan.
The chitterings of playful cicadas
In deep dark velvet midnight.
Far off a murmured accompaniment
Brought soft and low across the turgid air.
The gently whispering sound of the sea.
P H Brookes Copyright 2012
poem by Paul Brookes
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Waiting For A Call
The telephone lies silent
It has laryngitis I fear.
I sit staring at it,
Mutely it stares back.
I'd gladly take a call from the double glazing people,
You know the ones who call on spec,
Just to hear a friendly voice.
Is the instrument still working?
I call the speaking clock,
Just to make sure,
Just to hear a voice,
Reverently replacing the receiver.
I watch the clock.
Time crawls.
The silence gnaws at my ears.
And still, yes still,
The telephone lies silent.
P H Brookes Copyright 2012
poem by Paul Brookes
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Solitary (Stream VI)
Solitary,
Alone, yet crowded in.
Hemmed in.
Penned in.
Encircled.
The flow of the crowd pulls,
Surrounded you surrender,
Are surrendered,
Surrender yourself.
Rendered down.
No longer alone,
Yet lonely.
Left alone.
A lone voice
Crying out,
But ears are deaf,
Eyes blind,
Lips dumb.
No solicitude.
Not touched
You lose touch;
Numbed you remain lost,
At a loss with your loss.
You remain alone,
Solitary.
P H Brookes Copyright 2012
poem by Paul Brookes
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Cult Of The Sun
sun is –
the last
Fuhrer
beasts are –
only the members of
the Party
only the flight and
freedom of
birds!
let
all angels
die
there is
no tinge of
“good”
there is
no tinge of
“evil”
there is
no tinge of
“human”
nothing but!
the battle of!
butterflies!
return back What
Is above
God
Dao is
happy for
nobody
shit of
the bees is above
Buddha
wounds of
the lamb are above
Christ
it’s time to!
revive as!
a worm!
it is the worm that is
the revived
flower
black butterfly is
for the sake of
white butterfly
white butterfly is
for the sake of
black butterfly
let!
all! die!
angels!
here It is
The Last
Mystery:
the sound of wings
of Started
Butterflies
must
kill
the god
must
kill
the world
poem by AZsacra ZARATHUSTRA
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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But No More
The time is now or never
The crashing is coming near
The delphi is on the corner
And he whispers in your ear
It used to be men could be solemn even while laughing
And laughter could be heard shore to shore
But no more
Now all you hear is crying
Cause no one's on the phone
Your feet are just now freezing over
You know that you are here all alone
It used to be men could be solemn even while laughing
And laughter could be heard shore to shore
But no more
When I think of friends and places
Things we wanted, hoped we'd be
All that's left is fading traces
Memories of what use to be
Hear their laughter, see their shadows
Feel the darkness, see the light
We had lit all but lost so quickly
We think we won but we lost the fight
But it's all the same to me
I've seen all I want to see
First they laugh at you
Then they cry
Say they'll always be there
Then they die
So alone yet so alive
It used to be men could be solemn even while laughing
And laughter could be heard shore to shore
But no more
song performed by by Zebra
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Raw waR
Bombarded and war pitted
And pitied they who lie here.
The scar blasted houses
Now no place for dwelling
Or dwelling on the passed.
Where once love blossomed,
And families embraced in solidarity,
No blossoms grow for all the trees are dead.
Now the men have gone to war,
For war is raw and needs its raw recruits.
Recruited from the innocent
Whose hands will soon know death.
And those left behind face a different war.
The war of want.
The women face the daily grind
Of sky dropped bombs that scream annihilation.
And dodge the shells and bullets
To fed the hungry children
Who cower in makes shift sanctuaries
Deep beneath the ground.
Hollow eyed not understanding
And yet so used to death and loss.
For war is raw.
P H Brookes Copyright 2012
poem by Paul Brookes
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Sleepless
Gritty eyed and sleepless
I lie cool and empty.
Leaving a void in the bed,
A nullity,
Your body print remains
A soft indentation.
I kept your pillow
Trying to retain your fragrance
Till it soaked into the ether
Leaving only its memory
A sharp tanged essence.
But you had gone.
No forwarding address.
P H Brookes copyright 20012
poem by Paul Brookes
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I Failed
I failed to love you as I ought,
To see you as you were,
But it wasn't what I thought
A beauty wild and pure.
I should have seen the painful eyes
And heard the weary sighs,
And what I thought was true
Were just decietful lies.
So now I say I'm sorry
Even though it is to late,
And hope that you are happy
Gone to a better fate.
P H Brookes Copyright 2011
poem by Paul Brookes
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When Death Knocks
When death knocks
I shall fling the door wide
Rush into his embrace,
For I am ready.
He holds no fear for me
Why should I fear a friend?
One I have known all my life;
Who has accompanied every step,
Helped me on my way.
No I shall not fear death for
He will cut my earth bound chains
And his kiss shall set me free.
Copyright 2012 P H Brookes
poem by Paul Brookes
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