A Call To Arms

A call to arms,
My heart;
Hostile in the dark.
As the sun beacons
Summons the grave
of darkness,
The moon regains
composed in the depth of night,
Upside down; like a bat of navigation
My insides sign with articulation,
A skeleton to breathe against the grating battle-cry
Eloped in time stood still,
Forever merging with the ghosts of Halidon Hill.

J.Calvert 2016

Edge of Reason

A little edge of reason –
Stealing back the sheets,
Dark lines and silhouettes,
Make for a tasty treat.
Eyes aglow, underneath the frayed strokes,
Below the canvas of misery,
In shaded cloaks of grey;
My mind is a temple, trudging the day.
Beneath the setting stones,
A darkness envelopes,
Crossing the tides of time,
To a place my soul mates lies.
The years pass by, on a foreign tide,
My heart belongs to this borrowed land,
My mind restless in a simpleness,
Of customs and folklore,
Yet the lair of witchcraft and rebels,
Entice and compel.
Forgotten by the dawn,
Time stretches on,
I become a distant memory,
A history left unsaid –
Unspoken for centuries,
Silent on the wind.

J.Calvert 2016

A Field Of Bones



A field of bones,
Scattered across the plains,
Skulls and skeletons,
A thorn spine,
And needle,
Pierce my side,
Blood coils in the sun,
Ashes dot the wind,
Cinders spun,
Of plains of mighty dust,

A village,
Of war-torn distress,
Remnants of a town,
The shell of houses, scorched,
Desolate in the wake.
The silence of this place,
Haunting, the ghosts who stay,
Frames and corpses,
Chiselled to the core,
A field of bones,
Left to settle the score,

A flower grew, in the harshest of conditions,
Under the burning sun,
Among the skulls of the unsung,
A red bloom, of lonely plight,
To dazzle this horrible sight,
Growing more beautiful by the day,
Showering herself with the sun’s rays,
This little floret, nurtured by the elements,
Cultivated the plains,
Amid the field of bones,
Flourished tiny buds of red.