PARAPLEXED

We are the resurrection of the dead forgotten ways. We cultivate despair in veiled anathema of womankind. We are the ancient writings reassessed by gunlight in the aftermath of war. Ours is the only truth you need to know.

There is a meeting place of mind and eyes where images compete for conscious view and where perception banishes surprise at what is beaten down, and what wins through. With or without our influence or ken it's here our individual selves begin; for some are dulled and others walk in sleep never to wake again, though quiet voices whisper in the din of time for laughter and a time to weep. That part of us that is no rushing thing awaits our quietness, or our fatigue if nothing less can calm the eddying onrush of our futilities. Intrigue, infatuation, habit and despair crowd to the fore, impatient - yet it waits forever and beyond. Is it so weak that it cannot declare an interest in our battle with the fates, or does it hide because we fail to seek? What flows below the words may yet awake remembrance of an earlier array of promises fulfilled. Each new mistake derails the latent urge, with each new day, to change before the changeless. We can hear the chora...

For less than the price of a pint, and free if you are a Kindle Unlimited subscriber, The Weft is a selection from my poetry files. For those not familiar with my material, I am a New Formalist, meaning that I use classical verse forms but modern standard English, not 'poetic diction'. This collection contains sonnets, roundels, sestinas, terzanelles, ballades and more, with plenty light verse interspersed with the more serious offerings. Please take a look . kindle version paperback version