The day is white bright winter sunshine coats on, scarves many coloured, the zenith is the warmest The night is black dark moonless cloud duvet tight, pillows many and soft, the nadir is the coldest
Between the lark and the owl climbs and falls the sunrise and the dusk renewal and death, the median of un-wanted-ness
Weeks, months, years, decades time rolls on suddenly it is half a century and counting Mother Earth clasping her kith to her breast I am still struck with awe each moment passing healthy, happy, and grateful to live, to be alive!
Day is day and night is night Sleep sweet lovers eye shut tight Wake in the embrace of carnal love Around and below, within and above Between the owl and lark who sing Of impermanent dreams Of the Sun and the Moon Twins to the end of time Never forget, never losing sight Day is day and night is night
Trevor Maynard (1963) was born in Southend-on-Sea, Essex, England. He is the editor of The Poetic Bond series including THE POETIC BOND, THE POETIC BOND II, THE POETIC BOND III and THE POETIC BOND IV. Trevor's new poetry collection KEEP ON KEEPIN' ON is now available. He read Theatre Studies and Dramatic Art at Royal Holloway College and has worked for ten years in the theater, writing, directing and producing. Trevor is married to Jo and has four kids, six grandchildren, as well as a cat. Other works include FOUR TRUTHS (2010), a collection of four one act plays, and two single plays, GLASS and FROM PILLOW TO POST.
At the beach, it’s night time about 8.00 p.m. Best time to come few people around. Air is crisp, clean; cool, and the white horses are having such fun. Can sit for hours or gently wade while she softly whispers
I hate the self-immolation of orange sex. Weather was leaving blue strings on the skin. Redemption was incomplete by sharing the legs Lips will not knead the ears. Like wakng in darkness for a passage to grief. Black moon will
A volcanic kiss was becoming ungreen. The shark was coming. All night it was raining. The sap was rising and love-farm was deluged. A blue moon walks on the dry eyes. Why the tears had gone to exile? A mole
The dark clouds are rolling in quickly, wild wind blows fast and fiercely Many leaves and twigs start twirling around and circling Feeling like Edgar Allen Poe, In the distance I can hear some echo’s Of many dog’s barking in