Autumn: where silence falls


I write, I write and I write
No words fly.
Flowers on stems sway
Offer petals,
They fall, and falling
Bridge this nameless silence
Echoing between
Your lips and mine.





Overflowing From Silence

One last breath
races within me,

black horses around a merry-go-round
to supernovas and blackholes
splitting kaleidoscopes of no-mores
and dreams of forgotten.

One last breath
through the doorway of yesterday.
Eyes, shut fast leave me ajar
and I inhale tomorrow’s closed door.

Distance confused this mind.
Uncertain, incomplete,
some days its always night…
the constant drone of crickets on my ear.

On days like this,
I reach for your hand.
It’s never there,

sometimes I forget!

One last breath
the bloom of eternity
overflowing from silence.

Show me the way

to union,
wantings possibility of threshold invitations
over footprint whispers,

fragile assurances.



(c) A Hannan



History Seems Empty

Songs scatter between us. Philosophies
too intricate to illustrate in text leave
notes crawling through unspoken words,
unspoken thoughts lingering over melodies.

Toes dipped in sand search for each other,
the tides ebb and flow like cheese and honey.
I taste you on my lips, this constant
wanting over naked flesh, erect nipples,
the quiver of pearl… that exalted breath.

Time eclipses moment when I’m in you.
I become the subconscious
In every breath you take…
Fingers, inexorably loving
the beat of your heart, your hand
on the drum caressing my hips.

You play my future like a maestro yet
today I find my hand grasping at emptiness…

(c) A Hannan



I’ll be posting up some old poems… be warned -smiles sweetly-


The Passage of Birds

We follow the flight of birds
as colours change
and the North wind blows
it’s first born breeze.

Now cold life marries,
death blossoms a seasons
subtle turning. Bloom I,
the suicide of One realizing
flesh through seed and fire.

This is a moment smothered
in earth, no air, no room
to grow, increments of I
in time frozen from thought.

Fractured passing’s kiss me
from above and beneath.
I lament a history, mirror
reflecting my migration.

We follow the flight of birds….

(c) A Hannan