Bees in Amber Poetry Page

Darkness

What a lark

It’s getting dark

A wolf is prowling

In the park.

A raven crows

No one knows

From whence it came

Or where it goes.

The graveyard dark

Where bodies lay

Vampires clench their teeth

This month of May.

Blood sucking bats

Black cats

Use their claw

Catching and teasing

filthy rats

Full moon,

like a spoon

Stirs up the signature tune

Of magick and witch
  

Strauss the Mouse

He was called Strauss

The musical mouse,

He lived in a house

‘Twas a battenburg-cake.

He rowed in a boat

Which was kept afloat

By a mermaid who sang 

on a bank by the lake

Strauss played his flute

In his oak leafed boat

Accompanied by his friend

the stoat.

He met a goat

Wearing a sport-coat

By a bourbon mote

By the castle walls.

He said; to the goat-

In the groovy coat,

‘Hallo dear friend,don’t fear!

I’ll play for you, My flute-

If you’ll give Me your suit

‘Please be of good cheer’

The stately goat,smirked 

at the stoat

And said; ‘that will not do’

I have a date, I can’t be late

The Cock has already crew!

The mouse named Strauss

Ignored the goat

And started to play a tune,

It made the boat

Cease to float

Under the crescent moon.

The mouse named Strauss,

Fell in the lake

The stoat swam off to shore

The stately goat

Got in a boat

His lovely coat it tore!

They realised after;

The danger of greed

Of stubbornness and pride

Friendship, giving one a hand

Helps ward off the troubled tide.

Written by Adam Hughes
  

Danse Macabre

 
Danse Macabre
tombs opening.
Zombies come fourth;
to reveal their bare bones.
Cracks and crisp ice
underfoot,
Even their breath freezes
to resemble gooey
snot. How they would have loved
to once-more feel the bitter
morning-air
But they are DEAD…
They creep back into their gelid crypts
and sleep another thousand years.

Danse Macabre
tombs opening.
Zombies come fourth;
to reveal their bare bones.
Cracks and crisp ice
underfoot,
Even their breath freezes
to resemble gooey
snot. How they would have loved
to once-more feel the bitter
morning-air
But they are DEAD…
They creep back into their gelid crypts
and sleep another thousand years.
  

Shower

The water 
slowly slid 
down her 
soft soaking 
wet breasts 
as She rubbed 
the raspberry
scented soap
slowly all over 
her tingling body.

tear

Tears slide down the window,
the rusted latch hanging 
hopelessly in its state of decay.

The garden dying,
fading,wasting away. 
Tools lined up like soldiers 
awaiting their final orders 
against the garden wall,
that never come.


Old gloves lying upon 
the compost heap

A stark reminder 
of those hands,
those rotting hands,
that once tended this 
land with pride.

The wooden glass house,
made out of tree corpses,
now stands empty,
except for the ghostly 
appearance of spiders webs,
forming curtains of dust 
and rotting flies.
  

lips

  
 
She stood by the window...
 
Having one last drag.
 
Smoke billowing... like a chimney –
 
Though... I've never seen a chimney that pretty, before.
 
The butt fell to the ground.
 
Below... a puddle reflecting the full moon...
 
Just received a gift.
 
The air was damp...
 
Like she was.
 
The tumble dryer... airing some just-washed clothes.
 
She took her glass...
 
And poured a drink.
 
Waiting...
 
Waiting... what felt like a lifetime.
 
Finally... a knock.
 
At the door.
 
Not a gentle knock –
 
This knock was determined.
 
She opened the door.
 
A man was standing there... smirking.
 
She never saw her husband again.
 
 
 

  

She died this morning, 
It wasn't that bad.

She didn't say that,
But this is what
People say. 

What do you say
When someone passed
Like a flash, it happened
So fast. 

I held her hand, 
Though I wasn't there.
In person, 
Couldn't face that tune. 

Mindful of all those precious
Times. 
We had, together. 

I'll always love you, 
You're my Nan. 

I subconsciously, hold your hand.