In this waiting room I sit
old eyes are red from lack of sleep
hospital chair don't ever fit
wall clock's hands just barely creep

Stomach wanting to vent gas
as it rebels from vending food
but I refuse to let it pass
unlike some here in this brood

All the magazines areold
the newest May of oh eleven
one has even grown some mold
this place is near reverse of heaven

My head is killing me with passion
and the dog is barking poetry.
It's Saturday and crows are honking
with an early morning mist. Sea gulls
shriek their displeasure or to argue
about why humans waddle like ducks
in and out of their cities.

Sometimes, I am so filled with love
for it all, there's no one left to speak
of romance.

Not today.

He stood silent
With an empty face,
Clad in invisibility
And leaned on a monstrous sickle
Right there at the entrance
Pitilessly watching
-our beloved
On that grim bed
As he laboured
For a piece of breath

A sad sight
And we who claim
Ourselves masters of herbs
Could do nothing
Not even see,
Plead or fight
Him that stood
At the entrance
Neither reaping
Nor helping
Or away leaping
To a different field

Crushed Velvet

Plunging into
the crystal clear waters
many secrets hiding
under the luscious
sapphire pools
of lonely
indigo shadowed desire
meets with delicious
subaqueous forests
of rich emerald
crushed velvet desire
revealing a haven
of beautiful acceptance
where the starlit silence
of her fairy
childlike devotion
pure and resplendent
in a swirl of melding
this tide pool of loving...
the meridian of the soul

The words that will leave my mouth I dear say
May not be what you want to hear
But now is not the time to cast your bait and hook
Hoping that you will catch a fish in time for lunch
The time when you could have relied on hope:
When time was on your side – when you could have
Afforded to take aim and miss – that time is long gone!
But since you are blinded by your self-delusion
That your present state could only be worst not better
That your standard of life is the way it should be
You have unconditionally resigned from

CRYSTALLED CRACKS

Listen to the still of winters exit

lulled in the heat of march midday

hear the great tit shout for joy

see the silver drips

that drop from snow-clung clumps in trees

smell the sudden brew of autumn's pungent leaves

the sky reflected deep deep blue

in pools of melted ice
too fresh to taste

icicles tumble, heavy thuds

their crystal forms crazed, cracked

transformed to lacy netting

holed and patched

It started like a play at work
I saw some scary shaded forms
Meet a good sister of a friend
The rest is a tall tale you hear

Our people say this all the time
A trickster does not put his hand
In the pocket of one his kind
Lest the two pass others their mess

Looks deceive people a whole lot
The more innocent, the least suspect
Grave is the danger it can cause
Vigilance becomes the watchword

Docile clammy gown
I am the sad man clown
drawn down
these darkened cloak scenes
the shaded eye
with curved lash entice

the water tap chome ignites
with the pallour of the light
the pale hand has taken
the need
from cabinet lair

tumbles a clip for the hair
bright and shiny
cosmetic soft the jewel
colour call

it dances in the grasp
the porcelain world
dulled and sullied

Some say the greater art is the one
that never lived
like symphonic acts of refusal dancing in the rain
that
never comes but once in a lifetime.

Who is that who that wonders why poets
write words that rhyme when olive trees are bare
and cut down to make room for progress
at breakneck speed, going going gone
beyond a truthful thought that can never turn back
to live outside of itself.

Bearing witness, facing the tank or the bulldozer,
life lives its greatest art.

I do not understand but I see the truth
Why my tornadoes are resting now
And gone back to their hazy groove
Of eerie sleepiness,
And my bright spheres now dancing
Like freaky circles upon the horizons.