workshop
obsolescence, left eye pressure
another night sprawled on the worn desk top
the pleasure of freedom and two fisted appeal
seeping away these last 40 years
in days past a woman would wake me
afraid, needing a stiff spine and a steady gun hand
I would've drawn my hands through my thick hair
and sleepily, squint-eyed assessed her, drank
a 12 hour old coffee and bourbon and eased
her fear with steel and gun-metal eyes
with the flip of cosmic switch
no femme fatales left and a bald pate
seeking bluebirds,
those feathery nose tickling
variety of myth,
I board,
in pith and khaki,
a junk van
packed light for flight.
running on hot
rattles of hope
scratched aviators
and a new plastic identity
mirror cracks,
kaleidoscoping
the back-side of motion,
scatter the rain pretty
mud flaps, caked with
the debris of a muddled past
ragged and worn,
fall by the wayside
a hard-nosed cynic
is disappearing
there
ahead
somewhere
In deepest winter yet I walk
among my friends now all stripped bare
as time continues its slow stalk,
that lone hunter we all share,
but he's forgotten on this day.
For I've come here to escape time
as chill winds toss scant clouds about
and outlines puddles with thin rime
in low spots all along my route,
a logging road of frozen clay.
Until I find a favorite spot
a low bluff over middling stream
a place I think by most forgot
a perfect place to sit and dream
to listen to the pine trees sway.
I didn’t mean to hurt you
I swear upon my heart
When he asked if he could walk me home
I knew I wasn’t being smart
He put his arm around me
He started playing with my hair
I told him I had a boyfriend
He told me he didn’t care
You can’t turn back the clock
You can’t go back in time
He was older and so was I
The chance for love had passed us by
There are times I wish I could turn back
Things are so different now
And I want to be the girl I was
But I don’t remember how
I try not to go down memory lane.
The packages there,
I don't want to open them.
It's not like Xmas, when the joy
is seeing joy and it's multiplication.
What hurts is not me.
Behind regrets and hatred
is that silence where no 'other'
is remembered; no 'other'
niggles me with pain.
I lie still and try to be calm,
to rest as if floating
and when the buzz saw outside
intrudes, it's only the builder
next door, making something new.
cirrus flavours
a neon show
beyond the orange dust
taste of dusk
I came to you
the river of wire
the summiits of poles
blanched in their
thoughtful order
shivered in the yellow
lights
the pretty Dodge coupe
sleek as a river
speckled
with rust
take away anger with
a blossoms graze
coloured scarf binding
the burn a torn rib
a ragged filling lung
drenched fingers in prayer
velvet light green
253 radio tuned to
twelve point three
Listen to the silence
Waiting for the key
My ear is tuned to hear you
Your’s to hearing me
Your step is light, most quiet
My eye searching all around
I hear your comfort-voice
Heart-volume at full pound
Work all day anticipating
It doesn’t matter what you say
Zoning out, no content
I’ve been waiting all the day
Home at last from all the horror
The killing and the death
Cheating, lying scum
It stinks, I hold my breath
as we swim in the vastness of the universe supreme
we are an extension of milt …
it so does seem
well for those who want to know
what is milt …
some say
Google it....
well...
it’s the sperm of male fish
spread across the waters
female fish come to bathe in it freely
when some enters..
human beings are also
extensions of fish like existence
so be it some like, fish,
swim along the current
mostly few like electric eel and me
against..
IN MEDIAS RES
I take the moments as they come
and when the moment is kind
I ride the wind in furious flow
as far as my ecstasy will go.
But when the sickness strikes
I no longer have a voice to sing
frozen in fear and desolaton.
I wait pretending
holding on to my soul
as long as I can
until
I start to live
again
The Bad
Yeah Paddy’s Day is on its way
The time when alcoholics come out to play
Wear your green with pride they say
But I often hang my head with shame
on this supposedly great day
For every Paddy, Mick and Dick
Will be out acting the tick
A night on the town
Will only get me down
As people, their sorrows, they attempt to drown
The Good
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