The stream (all workshops)
An occasional gleeful vision of the crowd,
electrified;
does not necessarily constitute crazy.
"Touched a bit I spect"
whispered the reflection.
Sort some parcel into a mail bag
Place the slip in a wrong box
Somebody somewhere somehow suffers
Count the cost on consumables
And the toll on time bad supplies
The counter hand for box entries
Offers services to the public
With absent mindedness
Testifying to the emptiness
A sorry state of our system
Dead sentence pronounced
On the National Postal service
Still struggling to survive
With middling personnel
In an age of electronic mails
The theatre has men who like to pretend
Some force themselves to crack funny short jokes
Others are natural in what they do
I stepped in pretending to be a wolf
An unknown Tiger came to eat me up
we cleansed the wound
bacardi rum
sulpher powder from an old ambulance kit
cheering you danced
dousing your arms those
slender strong hands
mottled with freckles
and I passed out
vomiting on the table
when you pushed and hauled
taut the fifth stitch
waking from dreams
that boathouse
the sunken Chriscraft
"Fucking wake up!!" you
slapped me hard your tits
swinging..threw up again
(Im no big fan of Morphine)
I dream of a rainbow wood
In a world beyond our moor
Where the moon looms as the sun
And fireflies twirl into stars
I dream of a rainbow wood
Of singing fairies and listening unicorns
Where dancing dwarfs and crickets
Weave music into the clouds
I dream of a rainbow wood
Its seasons telling stories of spring blossoms
Of autumnal colours and winds
Of summer’s delights and warmth
Of winter’s chill and plays of snowballs
The Crow
Lonely pines covered in snow
Tremble under moonlight’s glow
Anticipating high drama
As the wind doth blow
Singular black crow
Perched on branch below
Fluttering feathered wings
Although his movement slow
Taking to grey skies that grow
In solid winter’s throes
No screech of complaint
For gale or frozen woe
Secluded streets in lamplight lie
Awash with cleansing rain
Awaiting dawns first sign
life has begun again
concentric circles on pavement form
left by heaven's tears
the solitude of this night
forever cast in years
I watch the drops trickle down the pane
and thoughts are of you once again
so long since I've heard your voice
memories did not leave a choice
With face in hands
I try to hide
the tears
beneath the rain
I can only see the moon in the crescents of your tear drops
as you wake up at 5 am with an open, dry mouth
like an open source of information, raped by quasi-scientists
and journalists alike; I am plagued
by the symmetry that lies in the reflections of our skin cells
just sequins that repeat the same sequence - cloning...
Don't worry I'll be there soon
in my old beat up pickup truck
on this evening of a half full moon.
We'll see if we have any luck.
I know that you prefer your trout
from tumbling mountain waterways
where hemlocks whisper and rapids shout
and cool reigns on these summer days.
But that would be too hard and far
(your withered body tells me so)
so we'll go to where a gravel bar
floods only when the turbines flow.
The path was filled with twists and turns
The skies roared with thunder’s screams
Rain fell freely as the stars shined on me
The burdens on my shoulder weighed me down
As I walked thorough muddy alley ways
Filled with insecurity a thought came to me
What if I left my worries on the side of a street
So, the following night I carried out my plan
Suddenly the clouds started to flee
The sun watched as smiles played on faces
The muddy streets were clear and welcoming
Even agony joined in on the celebration
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