The mountain stream, pure and cold flows
swiftly into pumpkin and juniper seeds and docile rivers
no higher than a knee,
and the river bends through
the painted earth and snakes its way into the myopic sea.

The bloodstone roots with childhood's end.
The moon, hanging loosely, shape-shifts into images,
clouds
blow away like old men puffing on hand-rolled cigars.

For us to gain freedom from ignorance
We mortgaged our houses to pay bills
That our young ones may read and write
And learn the ways of the west

It was a purpose worth dying for
That our offspring will be liberated
From burden of heavy taxation
So we starved to make ends meet

For us to realize our common goals
We made sacrifices, not to the ancient gods
But toiled like slaves to the imperial masters
That was the only way we had to go

There is a time in your life
When you go through a change
Now, that it's been  three months
I'm planning a men-o-pause party
For my fifty first birthday, yeah!

An operation removing tubes and organs
Bring men-o-pause on early
Making life free from reproducing, but
No matter the freedom to be free
Nothing compares to men-o-pause brought on naturally

In silent ways

I speak to you in silent ways
the stillness you hear in you is me
I am the breath when you awake
the warmth that fills your heart
when it aches
the light you seek when you despair
you will know me
in what makes you smile
the tears you cry
and when you die
I will be in your last sigh

Clandestine

nerves raw and stuttering
with pure impatience
I await changes that
seem never to come
stuck at the mercy
of another's indulgence
I pace in anticipation
grinding my teeth
in needling frustration
there are confidences
on your enticing lips
There are secrets here
to be revealed
perhaps I need a spade
instead of a spoon
to unearth them

her bodies worn like a watch
her fingers trace
patterns

pretty as she is
its how she likes to spend
her time

she can vanish in a crowd
but timeless
beauty
wears forever

its her spotlight

Pity the mere pittance of grey,
grey skies over a flatlander
hanging on by a thread
there is no breeze to assuage
this colourless dimension,
there are no rocks that survive
without being tied to sky..

I wear them like pearls, weighing
me down,
unable to lift away my heavy heart
my swan song on pointed toes,
rolling away the thunder,
the Lady of the Lake rises
like a dream,
like a drag queen,

all property is theft we know is true
this knowledge will now free our thoughts from chains
and corporation's death will soon ensue

with revolutionary spirit we pursue
the boss's lies to death till none remains
all property is theft we know is true

we fight for liberation overdue
our struggle will alleviate our pains
and corporation's death will soon ensue

these hoards of wealth continue to accrue
the trickle-down’s a sop for empty brains
all property is theft we know is true

Way up in the northern marches
far back among the oaks and larches
where winds blow a melancholy tone
take caution if you walk alone.

When winter's burden cloaks the land
and all is gray and white and bland;
the silence rings and all is still
frozen solid as each tiny rill.

In hunting, keep gun close to hand
load bullets of a silver brand.
Stay alert, keep all in view....
a hunter may be hunting you.

A hunter stepped into a clearing
Found monkeys playing oyoyo
A family reunion to end a busy day

Hum – hum – hum, ‘one tell one’
The message of his presence went round
They jumped on the trees and ran away

The hunter, in exciting disappointment
Stood there, crafted a dangerous monkey plan
Mixed sugar with Ogogoro, gin brewed locally

And poured into a basin, the spirit elements
Of air, earth, fire and water, long distilled
Then tempted the monkeys to their follies