The Constancy
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I hear a bird chirping sweetly
under the sound of your voice,
while we talk about nothing and everything
over the phone some mornings.
I imagine the bird is content
but I don't know.
.
I am slowly imploding.
Slowly crushed by the limits
of this faulty container.
It's an odd world from my perspective.
When I gave up the whys, I gained peace,
I am getting better all the time.
in a way.
.
There is a constancy.

When you look at me like that what do you see? I don't get how perfect you could love plain old me.

But you've been there for me rose and thorn. only you can fix me when my worlds been torn.

you love me now and you'll love me then. if this is what love feels like i don't want it to end.

you complete me and make me whole. you're like a a favorite song that never gets old.

your love is a whole new experience for me. every time i see you i can eel my heart beat.

and somewhere deep in side me I've always know that all that shines doesn't have to be gold.

"Haiku"

Equatorial
Midday sun no shadow thrown
A summertime home

"Haiku"

Where deep holes made damp
By Monsoon water way down
Drop bucket to fill

"Haiku"

The leaf twisted off
Fell to the hard frozen ground
The shadows grew long

"Haiku"

The blue bells did ring
The white bells swayed aloof
My lavender soon

"Senyru"

Many bad pains felt
A bonding that makes you cry
Tiny hands reach out

"Senyru"

The tree play's a lonely solitary stance.
Upon the wind it sways and dance's.
Stretching its arm as far it can reach.
Shedding its bounty of pears so sweet.
It is just a tree.
Unlike us it is free.
Proud and strong in a changing moods.
Bearing fruit tender and good.
Still its leaves are shimmering green.
When autumn comes a change can be seen.
Leaves changing color to a golden brown.
And falling softly to a velvety ground.
In the wind you catch the rustling sound.

The larks in the morning,
praising the sun,
telling the world
the day has begun.

The heady smell of
the forest grove -
of trees, of moss,
sweet scents of old.

A bitter wind from the
north, so cold,
stirring up the
Sea of Gold.

Drifts of leaves,
piled deep underfoot,
the cry of the owl;
two-it, two-oo.

The huge lazy sun,
hangs low in the sky.
Coloured red and promising
the morrow to be dry.

fluorescent blue skies
blink and shut eyes
to look down,
from smile to frown
once the dirt road
with kicked up pink dust
now concrete lust
a raped paradise
blink then shut eyes
cry crystal tears
For lost are the golden years.

I tend to think in past and future.
My thoughts travel beyond the realm of this moment.
The superior moment is happening now.
The next moment is still in question, the past one is lost

My energy is wasted on what has happened and what will occur,
in the omnipotent future.
I can seize the now by living, loving and experience it,
without further thoughts of what was or will be.

Will you remember me tomorrow,
as you remembered me today?
Or will I become a stranger to you,
someone you will hold at bay.
How long will the memories last,
before they get lost within past's folds?
Will I need to remind you of stories of when?
Or will you hear them as though the first time told?
Will you remember the name you had given to me?
Or begin to see me as another's child?
Do you even recall the days of your youth?
When your vitality for life was running wild.

There was 7 in the packet when we started
7 sticks of pure, cancerous victory

'better lock the door' she said

The old Sod was outside tending his garden
Putting those foul, spindly fingers
to a more appropriate use
Completely unaware of being
locked out of his own house

We sat in his lounge
Watched him from the window
Puffed on his cigarettes
and laughed
and coughed

It was a waste of good smoke
We didn't even inhale
and the taste made us queasy

images swirl in my mind,
the past, the present
mashed up in one continuous rewind
Magnetic tape
analog escape
from digital rape
the cassettes
lye stagnant
in a box
under my bed
buried,
as the dead.