‘Unicorns on New Mown Lawns’ and Other Poetry by Keith Robson

Unicorns on New Mown Lawns

Quintessential qualities quite quickly quantified
Each reason for the morning winds that oh so slowly died,
Some things are inescapable, and never fade away
And some things crumble slowly, like the bridges of the day,
As tallow runs in silent streams down from the living flame
The candle’s smoke writes many things, but never signs its name,
Yet days can tell you many things and make you wish for more
Like another whispered sunrise through a partly open door.

Mesmerically misunderstood myopic moon meshed mist
Soft interwoven memories of a face that I once kissed,
Between the waking morning and the languid afternoon
The clouds washed sceptred diamonds as they waited for the moon,
For some things tinkle tirelessly like bells upon the air
And sometimes echoes don’t bring back the words we need to share,
Yet meanwhile in the moments that have never yet been said
Drift tendrils of a whispered dream that still is not quite dead.

Celestial cloud carved characters click chattering castanets
As unicorns on new mown lawns watch sunbeams in their nets
Creep stealthily down twilight wine to disappear from view
Like secret shadowed mysteries you knew were not quite true,
And evening smiled in dark crushed velvet with inordinate disdain
As far away, another day prepared itself again,
For days can tell you many things and make you wish for more
Like another whispered sunrise through a partly open door…

The Silence of Life

Not a leaf fluttered over the silence
Not a whisper unwound on the dawn
Silent butterfly streams kept their wings furled
While the sun in the sky was reborn,
Even echoes were wrapped in serenity
As they came back to where they belonged,
To the lips that had sent them on errands
To the halls where the dancing dreams thronged.

Then the silence so slowly abated
As the hours intermingled again,
With tired voices so slowly awakening
With the pit-a-pat metronome rain,
And the sweet breathing sighs of the ocean
Come to call on the voice of the breeze,
As the hilltop once more ever timeless
Watched the trawlers set out to the seas.

Yet the glow in the eyes of forever
Matched the fire in the heart of again,
Like a door that is always left open
Like a candle that burns in the rain,
And in soothingly rhythmical colours
The sky and the sea blend as one,
As the wings of far seabirds catch fire
While the silence of life wanders on…

Keith Robson, 66, is a poet living on the Northeast coast of England.

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