The stream (all workshops)
His master's hand was hard, but gentle
and his heart was kind
they spent some years together, hunting
and read each other's mind
The master loved him more than life itself
the dog adored him more than that
Now his coat hangs in the closet
and the dog lies upon his hat
His heart gave out while at work
he never came home again
He spoke dog's name, twice 'ere he died
as though a song's refrain
Daydreams
Wishful creations
Of thoughts that may happen
Some are so good, some are so sad
Trances
INTAKE ROAD
In this old photo, trembling in my hand
I’m there, walking up the dim grey street
Old houses, now - as they always were
Two up two down terraces, now a blur
Up ahead, the wheel makes it complete
Everything’s gone now, you understand
It was a community that is now dispersed
Solid working families, partners in coal
Then a revolution came and all was lost
But loss of identity was the greatest cost
Mines all shut down, and it took its toll
It was if our whole county was cursed
Here comes the moment:all things said must be done,
Set the legacy raising the banner of valour,
Raise the flag walking on coals of fire
Burning desire, passion, blazing, flaming, shameless
Dare to leap, time to soar awakens,
What's there to gain when here owns nothing,
Raise the flag
my sister who dates Freddy Krueger
is safe 'cause she carries a Luger
it's a balance (of sorts)
-as he messes his shorts
when she points it and makes him eat boogers
A child daydreaming with a solemn face
As they stare off into open space
Lost in thought and far away
Eyes glistening, yet they won't say
What are they thinking, why so blue?
What story are they imagining too?
Are they dreaming of a place they'd go
Where they could be free and they'd know
That no matter what they'd be safe
The worries and fears of today erased
A place where they don't have to hide
Where they can be loved and full of pride
This phantom I’ve become
Starved for incessant connection
Unable to express this need
Permanently disconnected from myself
Peace and joy are emotionally expensive
I find myself at the toll booth of happiness
With little currency and less resolve
I’m given to choose the road of pain
It’s not that I’m entirely joyless
I suffer from intense bouts of happiness
I find no muse in this space, no inspiration
I can manifest no art if I’m satisfied
A spirited hue
ambles its way onto
resting leaves,
a spark of gold -
ornate and splendid,
a splash of red -
blushed with fever.
The foliage flaunts its
fading green with laughter,
its finery boldly basking
against the early autumn sky.
I pause to watch the sun
make its way ever west
as the trees chant a eulogy,
their long shadows holding
onto the waning grasses
much like that last breath of
summer held onto me -
sweet and benevolent,
drinking in the cooling air
The pyromaniac within yours truly
beckons sacrificial ritual
mine burning (man's)
sacred plastic bags
of rubbish (comprised of: hairs combed,
ditto trimmed from dead head,
filthy lucre - ha, phlegm
wrapped in tissue paper,
snips and snails,
and puppy dogs' tails),
awaiting flame thence said materials
reincarnated into sooty ash
The sign still bids me welcome
The populations still quite small,
Just one more mile before I know
If I'll recognize this place at all.
What I see before me now
Is not the town I longed to see,
Most businesses with shutters
They cut down that big oak tree.
The city square and band shell
The big clock that told the time,
Now lost and gone forever
From this old home town of mine.
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