Member Poem

Did I see a flicker, glimmer, ray of light or hope
in far-off stained glass windows,
​whose plastic resin shutters loop lymphatic dark rooms.
Where pillar candles melt upon mosaics,
where  rosehip stearates clutch at fragile perfumes,
where wax encrusted drips turn into cherry blossom plasmas of the mind
with coruscating  amber apologues.
Yet tallow rims are all that’s sometimes left for those who clingfilm second chances, as they grasp at feeble straws of honeyed hue,
or blindly chase ephemera beyond  Buddleia bounds.
Invasive mauve spike decorating  dim-lit  visions.
Moss climber’s wanton pipe dream dwarves the Eiffel torch.
Our minds play more than tricks with manic luminance.

NB This is an expanded, updated and carefully edited version of an earlier entry.
A more philosophical slant involved.