Some of my poetry

[fishman65]

Dying Star

Our star once
had burned so bright,
fed by bursting comets,
it's heart aflame,
it's soul alight.

Yet treacherous time,
he came on colluding feet,
smirking his lust for you,
leeching us to
flickered remnants,
to black holes,
to eternal night.

January 2019

[fishman65]

For Eternity Burned

She exists,
in the pause
between my thoughts,
haunts the dark
labyrinths of my dreams,
paces the unforgiving void,
flirts in the mirror at my back.

Hers are the words
I do not say,
frozen on my lips,
hers the touch
my skin still yearns,
traced in arcs of love.

In the absence of her,
too much now for
one heart to bear,
a heart now of stone,
where I would drown in her eyes,
my soul for eternity burned.

October 2016

[fishman65]

The Sculptor

I am made of clay,
moulded,
pulled to fit
her schemes,
the clay become flesh,
the flesh become
mind and soul.

The will pliable,
shaped to her desire,
her wish, her command.

Queen manipulator,
of teased out emotion,
of the guilt-tripped whim.

And now the tears,
tears to get her way,
tears to wet this
unwilling clay,
to melt the last
bastion of resistance.

October 2015

[fishman65]

Red Kite

She rides the high winds,
no strings for she,
untethered heart,
a heart that beats with
the wings of the free.

She glides the gust
without anchored thread,
caresses the clouds
above my head,
captures the cosmos
in her unblinking eye,
I plod the earth,
she owns the sky.

February 2016

[fishman65]

Goldfinches

Rosy cheeked fellows,
wing sash of gold,
stout little hearts put
to flight January's cold.

At your twittered joy the
canary hangs his head,
my garden's sleeping seed heads
have returned from the dead,
roused of winter's slumber,
with the shock of your glee,
when you dance upon my vista,
a blessed company,
a moment I would frame,
for all eternity.

January 2015

[Darksky]

More thoughtful stuff Fishman…particularly like Red Kite

[fishman65]

More thoughtful stuff Fishman…particularly like Red Kite

A very belated thank you Darksky.

[fishman65]

Bindweed

Your vines
about my throat,
as you scrambled through
my soul, like bindweed.

Your pure white
trumpet flowers,
that promised
sweet nectar,
were deception for
this trusting fool.

My breath you
took away,
cloying tendrils
throttled these lungs.

And pierced this heart.

September 2022

[Carnation]

I like Goldfinches

[Darksky]

Oooh I like this new one

I feel your poetry is not about the actual subject directly. It’s a representation of inner meaning.