Wednesday, May 24, 2017

Soul Mate

Soul Mate

Tim Wilkinson

You see, I’ve known since I was twelve
That boundless love exists
And knew I’d find its splendid touch
If only I’d persist

No doubt’s had I, that I would snare
That one who’s petaled kiss
Would pair my own, and cling sublime
In passions writhing bliss

To fly on wings of jasper slate,
Through time and endless space
Veiled in silk a blushing hue
Draped in scarlet lace

Yet only rare and special few
Do ever chance to find
A fever born without a cure
That kills what cannot die

For such a love as this does rise
But once each hundred years
Upon the white frothed surging crests
Shaped of fruitless tears

Yet all that’s come of squandered time
Through raw and ceaseless dream
In certain truth, the doubtless claim
No love as this I’m due

For of the loves I’ve ever known
And pallid breasted shrew
Not one, in I, did find the font
From which their soul did spew

Nor err a cry of pain and woe
At thoughts of I dispersed
Did raise and flail, an anguished wail
To love, by then accursed

And never flesh of ashen white
Nor eyes of faultless blue
Did bind my soul and heart to hers
Or curse or truth subdue

As only souls beyond my reach
Did prance and dance about
In ever swelling, circled girth
With taunting tits and shouts

While orbs of sparkling ocean depths
With lips a scorching ruse
And mane’s as black as Satan’s blood
Did I but rare amuse

Yes know I do, my time has passed
For worlds, as hearts neglect
And care they not for hopes nor tears
Of those that love’s forgot

No, my soul shall never mate
Nor revel in romance
Nor taint the words which poets write
Or thrust the piercing lance

For wife have I, and children too
And know the joy and pain
Of other loves one holds to lose
And never knows again

But I do yet, beneath this night
As once in former days
Dream and grieve and long await
The soulmate of my grave

© 2017, Tim Wilkinson

Thursday, May 11, 2017

Peony’s of Spring

Peony’s of Spring

The Peony’s of dawning spring,
Burst up from sallow soil
Sprouting buds long held within
Unsullied and unspoiled

Pubescent nipples, deftly teased
Aroused by sunlit kiss
Awake from raw and fervent dreams
To passions yearning bliss

To know the pleasured touch of morn,
They stretch in muted plea
Years bereft of passions warmth
To greet the joys of spring

Starved by winters chaste denial
Of all that looms beyond
Tender points of blushing pink
Push up on high from down

Flush with eager, budding youth
Pointed, pert, and round
They swell and head in warming sun
To vibrant tones, aloud

Lilac, red and tawny rose
Blossoms firm and proud
Erect and virile, bold and wild
Fertile, prim and stout

Yet beauty has its burdens
As all who wear it find
For everywhere it sprouts and shines
Wait those to cluck and frown

Leary eyed and eager tongued
Like ants they gather round
Seeking secret honeyed dew
Within each flushing crown

While driving rains of latent spring
That fall and much abound
Leave each plump and busty bloom
Bruised and bent and bowed

Till Peony’s of waning spring
Now sagged and frail and dry
Bear the bloom of faded youth
No ant will sip, or eye

© 2017, Tim Wilkinson

Thursday, April 27, 2017

Could it Be

Could it be

Could it be, that I’m not me
But someone else instead
Looking up from deep within
A cold and stony well

Could it be, that I’m not he
Who writhes within my head
The one who dreams of things unseen
That drives this aging flesh

 Could it be, that all the years
I’ve spent in strangers beds
Was but the light of dawn on high
Raining down upon my head

Could it be, that who I am
Can’t answer as to why
Wisps of brittle, crape mache
Crumble, peal, and die

Could it be, the loves I’ve known
Knew only what I’m not
Merely holding hands of one
While kissing stone and rock

Could it be, that I’ve become
What wasn’t meant to be
A stranger in my own hometown
A thing beyond belief

Or could it be, the boated corpse
That fouls the water well
Is but a man, who’s yet to live

Adrift in shameless hell

© 2017, Tim Wilkinson

Thursday, April 13, 2017

When Shadows Stalk

When Shadows Stalk
Tim Wilkinson

When shadows stalk like foul undead
In nights devoid of rest
And past delights, now vile regrets
Return to haunt and strike

The dreamer knows, though wide awake
The tithe due past mistakes
And memories of crimson dread

Doth hearts both qualm and quake

© 2017, Tim Wilkinson

Monday, December 5, 2016

A Time for All

A Time for All
Tim Wilkinson

For love there is a time to grieve
For life, a time to cry
For peace there is a time to fight
For death, a time to lie

Yet when comes time for one as I
For those and them described
Those for whom a pretty face
Brings pain of touch denied

I, by thine lo youthful breasts
These hands be e’er despised
Whose fair and trembling, crimson lips
My name, will  ne’re decry

© 2016, Tim Wilkinson

Wednesday, November 23, 2016

One Alone

One Alone

Tim Wilkinson

Of all the hearts that love forgot
Whose sleeves bear crimson stains
There is I fear but one alone
Whose darkened heart remains

One alone who shuns the light
Although he’s not afraid
Walking under teary skies
For love of cloud and rain

One alone whom shadows chase
Throughout the cloudy day
Treading lonely moonlit paths
For love of blood and pain

One alone whose dreams lament
The world now far away
Tramping by the marbled tombs
For love of yester-day

One alone who’s red eyes roam
Amid the hand hewn stones
Reading names he doesn’t grasp
For love of grief and woe

One alone who’s hands caress
Each polished granite face
Looking for but one alone
That marks his resting place

© 2016, Tim Wilkinson


Tim Wilkinson

My death it seems scant few shall mourn
My life, but wasted time
For all the things I meant to write
Lay strewn across the floor

My passing shall be noted not
My time, but idled strife
For all of those I meant to love
Lay spread throughout the night

My ending shall cause none to grieve
My hours, all done and spent
For everyone that could have cared
Lays drunk and stoned, despite

© 2016, Tim Wilkinson

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