Category Archives: Poems


Words weary and flaccid forms, forced in metre

Folding themselves upon themselves and time

Following foot by foot much fleeter feet,

Seeking tired rhyme to find my loves sweet child.

A grinding of knees slows my Autumn years

Where once, oiled by sweat, Springs neat ankles danced.

A mind abraded, dusts my Winter fears:Breathless and deaf where once your Summers sang.

Without leg’s dance, ears to hear, lungs to sing,


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Moat monsters and glittering prizes,

Spiders castling along a battlement spine

Heralds fanfare for a false dawn.

A goldrush for cover,

Hoardes rattle in cellars.

The power of the hexagram,

Silence is consent.

Fed, and armed up to the teeth,

An ill wind stirs daybreak.

They assemble in rows like waves of darkness.

A golden fleecing for all Jasons.

Archeology among many manuscripts.

An old war horse smells blood in the stable.

The quest …


Is it the flame or the shadow that dances?
Sense proclaims one cause, the other, effect.
Flame follows as shades ride chances.
Lights leap in silhouettes neglect.
Staring stonily into black satin dark
The embers steal my attention.
Should I be drawn to flame and to spark
Peripheral night’s the contention.
I am neither light nor shadow.
I am neither dream nor illusion
I am the witness
I am
The Dancer.
Brian E Deagon