• Tuur Verheyde

Half-sleep Shard-scenes

A poet sleeps

To steal Dream’s

Shattered scenes;

Their stories flee

The breaking

Dawn.


*

A half-hill in black

Sailing on a lake

Of ashen mist.


*


Vermillion skies

Meet a bludgeoned cop

Car on the road.


*


Clouds like coal

Encroach on a quaint

Pastoral.


*


A wave-worn sloop

Nears long-missed

Pearl cliffs.


*


A wandering child

Breaches a hedge

To greet the grim

Forest edge.


*


A back-lander uncovers

Unbidden mourning

In the winnowing white.


*


Beneath a ruined arch

Whispers spill secret

Histories as the twilight

Sets.


*


In the lost nether dark

A winged flare guides

The herald hither.


*


There’s a Tolkien-esque

Divergence where

Green prevails

Yet roles reverse.


*


A bald man twirls

On a sword like a Beyblade,

His head blindfolded,

One arm raised towards

The furrowed dusk.


*


A game of chess

On a whaling ship

Ends when the leviathan

Rises. Darkness follows

As marine blue blobs

Are eaten in a candid

Flash.


*


A fisherman leans

Over the jetty’s edge,

Gazing through the sodden

Murk to meet, in a blink,

An undine smirk.


*


Light-years away

A being interrogates

The sky: Where are the children

You promised before? Can we

Hope for their descent?


*


A crag creature burrows

Deep beneath your home,

Sculpting hollows to house

Its foundling godhead.


*


A woodland warden

Finds our faded traces;

She leaves her own

To herd us home.


*


An apocalypse spent

Gazing at flame-fall

And starlight tears,

Watching endings,

As beginnings unveil.


*


You, scrambling

Through a cardboard

Warren, tearing its walls

To reveal endless paper

Depths.


*


Me, transcribing

Scriptures of ineffable

Sanctities, sowing

Meaning only through

The serendipitous

Variety of being.


*


And on goes the drift

Into occult bodies

Of senseless seeing. You and I,

Eternal castaways,

Kissing the shores of veiled

Subconscious, sniffing

Its salts, snatching its precious

Shard-shells to save

And unseam.


Recent Posts

See All

For M. So, you will go on, Travelling, for a moon Or so, to sights I know Not where. I will admit Envy sighs as I write this, And worry whines like A patronising tut. Neither Is of use to you. You wis

Hearken, Great Goddess, Maelstrom Mistress, Mother, Maiden, Crone, many-named and manifold, Shiver-seamstress and weaver of Dreams, bringer of magick, planter Of seeds, Unveil thy grace Through what i