A poem #103 – Love song 

Moonrise grip
tideway slip
firm and cool
‘gainst the bare brick wall
on this the longest
of summer nights
beneath the veil
of waning coastal lights,
that same way you kissed me, then
that’s how I kiss you.

Red leaves crisp
under rising mist
hats and scarfs
along woodland paths
all in song with
Nature’s wish
under the canopy
of Autumn’s kiss,
that same way you held me, then
that’s how I hold you.

Cold air rings
deep lungs sting
calm and slow
in dusting snow
on this the clearest
of Winter’s days
amongst the still air
and vastness of the bay,
that same way you spoke of me, then
that’s how I speak of you.

Budding yawn
rose-fingered dawn
fresh and sweet
with temperate beat
on this the day
in waking spring
new arisings
all Godly things singing,
that same soft voice that sung, then
that’s how I sing of you.

JP Collins


A poem #100 – Moon makers (reprise)

Our voices are low in the gas fire light
the orange glow from the three bars
mumbles soft, somber, and slow tonight
The shadows, still, in the corners fall
where flames in passions past
danced high up the walls
We sold our desires by an inch of a candle
and now we are paying over the odds
I wish we had shared all of our truths
while our voices could still speak of god
Now the white maiden dress
browned in the dirt of experience
and washed with the milk of Moon tea
No song no more from that old piano
where the ash from the coal fire
settled on the keys
And on this the passing of the last day of Winter
the birds in her heart will take their final flight
There will be no words to the ear, no note on the night stand
only half a bed and half a man of untold scars
at the break of this last spring’s light
A toast, then, to the good times
and to the hearts that ran so free
we’ll dance to the jaunt of our old bones now
and the bleak and fading mind
that’s welcomed-in the grey of the sea
And when the bed is cold and the gas fire waned
I will look up through the night to see
amongst all the million suns up there
the moon is where you’ll be.

JP Collins

A poem #99 – Moon makers

Both of us talk low in the gaslight
our nerves tremble against the air
digging up ghosts from where we know they are lying
in the absolute darkness and the space between tears.

Embraced with each other we sway in the jaunt of the piano
where Hope rolls over the hill
we are two lamps in the small hours clinging to the half light
and the embers from the coal fire that settle on the sill.

You say “it looks a little more like love
now we’ve cleared the air”
all the hurts laid out before us:
too many for us to count or about which to care.

Even still, we hide from each other our deepest scars
as if a child can somehow learn the world from the womb
and so the time it has come and down on one knee I ask you:
with all the billions of suns up there, what make you of the moon?

JP Collins

A poem #92 – Our nightly song

The things unsaid
as we lay in the bed
between the delicate knowings
of right and wrong.
Feelings reborn,
leaving us torn
but not as one.

Dream’s liquid displaced
steeped and disgraced,
forlorn under our
moonlit tongue.
In silence we fight
wordless in our plight,
in loveless turns
against the fabric of our nightly song.

Though, waves maybe lapping
as she is now sleeping,
the storm
is yet to come.
Once gentle tones
the steel quietly hones,
her syllables sharpening, in wait,
against the rasp of her tongue.

On eggshells we tread
as we lay in the bed:
constituent parts
of a broken sum.
This marriage scorned,
too hastily mourned.
Our shame is so evident
in the light of the morning come.

JP Collins

A poem #23 – If I had my time again

If I had my time again,
I would not change a thing that I do;
for I know that it was because of these things,
that good fortune led me to you.

It was these things, for good and for bad,
that led me to your smile.
They allowed me into your kind heart’s embrace,
and to meet you at the end of the aisle.

It is to these things that I owe my life,
for they have shaped my very being.
They have painted me, a picture,
that only you are intent on seeing.

If I had my time again,
I would not change a thing that I do;
for I know that without these things,
I would chance not meeting you.

JP Collins

A poem #20 – I do not do this for me

I do not do this for me,
my feelings, my thoughts, my fears,
are irrelevant in the scheme of things.
I do not do this for sycophantic gratification,
nor do I do it for mutual admiration.
I do not do this for wealthy gains,
nor do I do it to ease my pains.
I do not do this for me,
no, that is not why I’m here, down on one knee.
I do this
only for you,
and to see that beautiful smile rise like the sun across your face.

JP Collins

A poem #17 – My offer, my love

Here is my offer:
I’ll come with you to the sky,
at the edge of where the sea does meet,
and where the angels lie.
I’ll hold your hand to the bitter end,
and comfort you when you cry.
I’ll love you forever in a memory,
so you’ll never have to say goodbye.
I’ll meet you at the doorway,
each time you come back home.
I’ll be the voice that strengthens you,
my heart will never roam.
I’ll give you all my reasoning,
and heal all of your scars.
I’ll help you down from the trembling ledge,
and we’ll dance amongst the stars.
I’ll be the smile on your face,
and devote myself to you,
I’ll give you every inch of my soul,
and never be untrue.
Here is my offer:
I will come with you to the sky.
We can be together always,
beyond the breadth of time.

JP Collins