.

flame
running faster than
you can flutter a lash
flash
rushing swifter than
we can sniff a flower
fresh
rippling quieter than
they can queue on Black
Friday

.

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.

a husk, a shell that's fallen off 

the back that bore its longest day 

to struggle for release supreme 

from odious yesterday redeemed 




i gaze in stupefied wonder 

and peer into the dusky swirls 

of the distant pealing thunder 

that offers me a new day's thrill 

 

.

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.

over many moons and calendars
over many many miles of verse
both in sharing and receiving, lines
feeding an ever emptying purse
may these blossoms fruit among their vines

.

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.

filled with melancholy
mood lit by lampshade
names and faces dissipate

weathered post it sticks
if only the memory did

.

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`


My butterfly is no longer mine,
I wonder if she ever really was;
When she alights on my shoulder
I know she wants me to hold her -
Flies off and she's mine no longer.

My butterfly so frail and fine,
I wonder if I was ever hers;
When she returns to kiss me again
I know she's more than just a friend -
Flies off and gone forever more.





`

 

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none of these life choices
are mine
though they are yours to enjoy
without so much as a batted lash
none of these improvisations 
are theirs
though we live barely existing
with not much more than breath

no choice could be given
no chance to chance upon
living and loving out of bounds
perimeter embankment of
social media static hairs
we aren't what we seem

should gladnes...

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.

The birthing of articulated expression
will always find its means of entering
into the world outside and beyond
the inner recesses of our awareness.

I love the wee and trippy hours of the
after midnight when the glass slipper
lay glimmering aloof in the moonlight
and the weary dreamer sets some
ink of thoughts onto the parchment
of a woozy head - too early in the day
to ...

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.

Spun out of control. 
Bobbing then pommeled, squashed then bloated. 
A lone occupant within the confines of a tumble dryer 
at full spin.... 
An impatient hand lifts the lid off 
with deft, well practised fingers 
hopeful that in so doing would speed up the process. 

The spinning abruptly stops 
resuming only when the lid is firmly shut 
securely in place. 
With a banging and...

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.

there need not be iron bars
to keep a heart imprisoned
there is no white flag of surrender
nor o-d, nor cutting would resolve

nor does the coming-off of chains make one trully free
the stench of blood curdled cold
staining my cheek with ferrous-ity

on that flee bitten bunk each unforgiving night
a plaintive prayer wafts in upward draft
to rejoin the fraying bonds of you...

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.

in spite of what surrounds us 
whatever circumstances are 
we are learning to find peace 
within ourselves 
regardless of what's

going on around us, 
learning to self-soothe 
kind of thing and find 
we all are coming through 
to the other side, strong

persons we've missed; 
our friendships through, 
a new season approaching 
and a sense begins to...

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Is it not a foe who taunts — 
that in itself could be borne? 
Is it not an enemy's tirades— 
from them one could hide? 
Instead, an arrogant intimacy—
life's equal, companion & friend. 

What close companionship 
now scattered in the chill
of uncaring autumn winds;
from familiar paths once  
walked together in gardens
of fond affection and glee.

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You ARE,

however contrary your reality may be.

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some time, somewhere out there

someone had said
that one part of poetry
is a reservoir that holds
all the sadness of this world

What then does this say of a poet?

it is not seen how
that portion poets bear
bare on virginal leaves
all their flight and fears

are tears morphed in pressed ink

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turn your gaze to power 
of life and death:
they lie dormant,
seeded potentialities;

a flower's expectancy
in each quiescent tongue
and those who love either 
will surely sup of their fruit

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when
wriggly worms are done
with you
i shall await 
sweet scent of blooms
that should some day
sprout and mark
this very spot
in which 
you last
reclined
that is, 
if i don't 
follow
after you

soon

`

Fourteen days until your birthday, but you are no longer here. You have left us 10 weeks ago, Dad. All the special days are now another farewell.

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crocus buds burst forth
peep and poke through dunes of white
winter bows to spring

when the sun begins to shine again
vital truths on wood-lined paths arise  

 

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Join me in this boat of drunkenness, 
Come with me and we shall both be drunk. 
Let's sway beside what we think ourselves, 
Swerving as the waves swell beneath us; 
Lifting us to where lonely sounds warp, 
While many other things become clear. 


Come upon my mind, your tongue in mine, 
And utter words that rend this turmoil; 
The sound of madness not to be stilled, 
Our silent voices, ...

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When your winter breaks into spring
think of new and wonderful things

while autumn creeps passed your window
break this winter free of sorrow

wait upon seasons - wait on life
live each day loving - escaping 

weave each day's new strands - engaging
one day looking back - mem'ries rife.

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Where it not for one to play buffoon 

or to say of none we're way too soon

involved in peddling mass hysteria 

when it's been held in each posterior 

consciousness - makers of peace are

blessed. So ever to be near or far

we at our disposal have in hand

a power to write upon our sand.

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stately tall you meekly stand
on your finger the signet band
for my sake you shunned your crown
for my breath your devotion fierce

you gave for me your sword and squire
your hospitality did never tire
proud brothers in battle or play
companions going about each day

in your shadow I had no care
my home's cupboards were never bare
song and merriment never missed
hunger a stranger to m...

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There are shadows all over
Shining darkly in reverse;
Pointy ears of impish horns,
Whose stalks ravaged worn;
Chant rondeaus of curses
On a sea of four-leaf clover. 

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pan-fluted melodies
whisp’ring in the wind
blist’ring radiance
bleaches desert mud
send them tumbling
along endless dunes
temp’rature drops as
an astral masque ball
strings up fairy lights
across the evening sky

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more wistful now than poignant
while whistling with the wind
dancing dapples of recollection and forgetfulness
serve only to stir whirling notions
blowing willowy wisps of patinaed pirouettes
intertwining and reverberating shimmer 
that no regret has any hope of obligating

- - -
N. B. here are two versions, the first and the redacted immediately following. Which do you like better? 
Ple...

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It might the flying Dutchman be 
Or the fame of those fishermen three 
How it, planks of our own fashioning, walk we!

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shadowy sheets cover, 

dark, shining lips purse;

pointy ears prick skyward

as corn stalks pondered

chanting scarecrows curse

in a sea of dreams left over

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Red train rested at Rotterdam station
Over the border to meet a friend
Trains all over Europe pass here
Today is a bright and sunny day
Every person glows in its brightness
Realising not a former disaster, that
During the 40's destruction erupted
Along these very streets, evacuated
Murderous bombs wreaking havoc

'

 N.B. It was 14th of May, 1940 when the Luftwaffe decimated ...

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With disdain they looked upon one Billy McGee
a boy that promised never to be;
a rep that’s scarred and scratched,
for sure his name’s mismatched
as darker skin ya’ever did see
on blackish hair with reddish flecks of Billy McGee.

A red haired aboriginal boy
matches were only a toy
and he was caught red handed
and always branded
the troublesome fire starter.
Poor boy had no farda
he w...

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numbers do not the soul touch
or rouse from depths of reverie
whose shallow sepulchral beauty
surface deep revelations aplenty
plead with matrimonial vows, thus
parchment scribbles & ceremonies
do not a marriage make and
neither will ice cream make us
any colder after calories kick in
poetry's soul may ride its form
but transcends its empirical parts
its triumph for all to behold:
at l...

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Belatedly, towing a rust-worn Saab, where
many dreams and adventures are wrenched
from a youngster's brooding petulance ...

Gravel crunches under a pair of balding tires
guttural screaming to a downbeat of debt
spewing silently from a tattered billfold.

What a present: timely to an empty fridge,
in the hallway, a growing pile of washing
impatiently reeking of malodorous intent.

 

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Amber frosted reeds
in the summers wind
swaying, dancing,
synchronised now
syncopated and back
shouting then singing
xanthine etudes
boisterous and raucous
bright and nimble
leaving pliant
graceful kisses
on a soft smooth cheek.

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As a projectile on its trajectory
the very kernel of a heart’s story
unfurls and beckons to those who care
allows for both sides, their minds declare
each line, each verse, each accentuated pause
altogether bring, joint longing; their inimitable cause

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wrote a poem in my head, last night

too lazy to get up and write it out

wasn't bothered to bring a pen

or a device to my bedside;

this morning was a beast

wringing my memory

for what had gone

all those words

now vanished

last night

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Up to a point
pliant leaves will seep
into all its waters
until the cup overflows

so much as to stain
the meticulously starched table linen.
Then we shall face with reckoning
its true substance!

`

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