A Poet Reflects

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A new blog entry...post National Poetry Day, pre litigation...a poet's life ain't an easy path.


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Tags: biography, Reflection, self reflection

Walking early

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To walk early in the dewy wood

The earth soft and cushioned

To hear first the movement’s of its day

Passing deftly under arching boughs


The path trod leads back to the sleeping house

Viewed from the crest in the clearing

Shin high mist swirls about

Rabbits thump and scurry

Nothing stirs without purpose


Now is the day fit for man

To place himself within


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Tags: Nature, reflection


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She drags tired heels

across a tainted floor,

poise slightly bowed

and her back is sore.

She holds on her face

a cold marble stare,

a hard life engraved

upon cheeks once so fair.


Her faulting movements,

once graceful; divine,

her aching limbs now

with guile, defy

her final performance

on this dark empty stage,

memories fleeting

of a much better age...

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The waking nightmare

In a redemptive netherworld he visited high mountain plains, where in colourless voids between dreams his sleeping self would sob.


In sobbing, his unknown distress would lead him downward through dark caverns and tunnels, hidden from his damaged mind. Then entering new chambers lit by an unseen sun, true beauty would flood his restless slumber, soaking up his grief.


Taking him furt...

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Tags: Reflection

Sketches of Kandahar

I remember Kandahar, flying low across a golden landscape in the door of a Blackhawk, the sun a red ball sinking behind jagged mountains. The goat herders below us, waving their sticks upward, flashing huge toothy smiles. Seeing the sand whip up around them as we roared over and passed them. 


The sheer beauty of it, the thrill and wonder of being alive in that moment. Seeing The Gates of K...

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Tags: Reflection, War


Once, just a number.

When first counted I was happy to be so.

It dawned on me that I was an odd digit, un-countable in their reckoning.

All my friends, no more than a running total in a blood stained balance book.


Ten years gone, those eight digits still roll off my bitten tongue,

Though, un-reserved now.

I have subtracted myself to zero.


Every day I divide myself to...

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Tags: Reflection


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Along the open flatlands toward Stimlje, the land rises.

Through the tight enclosed lanes to the further side, almost leaving.

A battered overgrown compound, mesh fences collapsing, open in part.


Stimlje Mental Asylum.

The incarcerated have not departed, abandoned they remain.

The staff having fled, chose freedom.


Snow lays patchy underfoot, stained with shit and blood.


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Tags: Conflict, Reflection, War

The Smugglers Tunnel

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Bible black surround’s,

Wet wall’s and puddled floor,

Hunched with shoulders loaded full,

toward the seascape door.



The damp and smokey lanes that spiral through the town, 

The bloody aproned butcher, the priest in priestly gown,

The gossip climbs the stone lined streets, into their ancient dwellings,

to breathe a million whispers embellished with each telling...

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Tags: Reflection

Memento Mori

Are the nights getting cold? 
As your flesh begins to fold
Do your skies darken early?
Do songbirds sing, but rarely.

Are your parents ghosts of memories? 
That never let you sleep with ease.
Families parted from each other
Distant sister, distant brother.

This land has grown away from me,
What once was can never be.
The draw of an ocean the smell of a sea,
The silhouetted Jacaranda tree 

The child ...

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Tags: Reflection

Sex and Cigarettes

The smell of sex and stale cigarettes, Two bodies connected in life and death, Chapped lips meet between the sheets, Lust in our bones, the Reaper in the air. How rare an oxymoron, neither with clothes on, We follow recreation with deadly inhalation, Skin touching skin, lips wrapped around uncertainty, Two separate entities leaned inwards somehow gently, Feeling so alive, ...

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Tags: cigarettes, death, life, love, lust, meaning, oxymoron, reflection, sex

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