The stream (all workshops)
Ply me with grass fingers
you wave through the old growth
and the fresh barometric stubble
shinning with eyes pulled
deep from sounding action
coloured by storms and fires
lit by sunsets harsh and
tender attraction
Nickle and dime salutation
and your trick as you turn that
worn lucky peice through your
fingers and click it on your
grandmothers ring
walking in your gait across
cracked greyling sidewalks
that have seen steel rimmed
democrats and winged Detroit
steel
It’s my job to whisper…
They whisper on the wind in the
minds of the sane taking up their
station for profit or for gain.
Mesh covered windows are cracked
open during the night allowing only
the breeze inside or within sight.
Treachery they guard against in case
their secrets out the punishment for
informants they are never left to doubt.
We are just the senders and not to
know the reasons why we all get sharp
reminders and some they even die.
I.
brittle elegy's seedlings, the night swings
its petticoat leg,
while small birds
(still spinning dinosaur's songs)
flying like poetic wounds
inside deepenst evolution's mouth;
what kind of disease will feed your hunger now?
II.
I distill the colours of distant stars,
inside a grain of sand; plastic hands
carry the smoke of cruelty
(with its new feathers)
with money-smiles
and unholy holiness
maintaining the balance
of mediocrity and sad eyes;
As the eastern sun rises
we’re on our way.
The dawn is slowly breaking,
waking up a new day.
We’re headed for the south coast
leaving Swansea,
motoring down the M4,
bags packed for the journey.
On the rolling grassy hills
lambs jump play,
sheep still in their overcoats
until the month of May.
A far distant mountain range
intrudes the sky,
peaking over valley plains
where buzzards hunt and fly.
Today I passed a cotton gin
at a crossroads far from town
wearing a metal hide of rust
and sagging sheds near fallen down.
So I pulled just off the road
and took in the surrounding land
of scattered recent hobby farms
and an aging farm house, grand.
In mind's eye I subtracted years
removed pastures and tall pine trees
until gin and farm house stood alone
and cotton poison tainted the breeze.
DECEPTION
"And where have you been, all this day,
My pretty one, my love so fair?"
"I've been to visit with sick friends,
Oh husband mine, for whom I care."
"Then why the perfume and the dress
As if invited to a ball?"
" Dear John, your questions make me laugh,
Have you no trust in me at all?"
" I am not well, and should I die
Would you re-marry, in your prime?"
" No! no! my John, perish the thought!
Well.... maybe, after quite some time."
I was a king
With my prince by my side
A king made of silver and gold
A house to live in this king could provide
With my son the prince by my side
The meaning of silver and gold
Should have been my assiduous love born of the light in his eye?
All work and no play set a paradigm
That silver and gold was only the means
For my own selfish pride
I cannot change those childhood years of his life
Or even give a reason when he ask me to fly
Wicked ways of a world fat and greedy
hungry and needy angry and scheming
it’s hard to focus on anything but hopelessness
with all those innocent people screaming
Shoot before breach Swing before speech
launch but don’t weep because the civilians cannot sleep.
Perpetuating violence destroyer of societies vengeful and mindless.
An entire world changed in the blink of an eye lid.
Combat seeking Militant beings trade Blood for oil Until they have completely lost the meaning
you brush me with your tenderlust
trust
held with ring shinning fingers
and dazzle nails gleaming
like moist paint
breath against me in sigh
punctuation
how I love the slow commas
warm like lantern lamps
on oilskin table tops
and hemp rope held
tarpaulin rooms
I follow the curve of your
hip delved with mystery
the smooth plain
of stomach and then
the foothill ribcage
the hill of breast
The old sundial
tells the time
without knowing it
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