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.
A silence on the night. The day fluttered quietly in whisper soft resonance, So many colours slowly dying Like confetti in the rain, And echoes touched each other, a reunion of themselves, As though they were astounded At their resonating
Put off the lantern. I am waiting for the moon’s primal face. The lesser flamingoes were going to shed the pink color. Nude as a python, the kiss of pomegranates, kills by asphyxiation. I suffer in the hands of protests.
It was night sin of domesticity. Dyed, I am loading the white secret of pain in the hollow of a mayhem. Till every blunder takes a downward flight striping the outsized image of a kill. His flames are now singeing