The stream (all workshops)
When winters' chill
arrives, via
an icy wind, so cold;
it's quite enough
to convince this man
he's getting far, too old.
The seasons' breath
will do it's best
to further make its' case;
by sharing an empty,
hollow shrill,
that gives lonliness a face.
With winter as
an only pal
that never seems to end;
I'm made aware
the trade's not fair
if I'm not allowed one friend.
a kernel mix…
Do see the pastries in the box oblong,
can you hear the starling shrill its song.
Could the mixture so perfect, be erased,
will we know life, where song’s not praised.
One a texture from a hand well learned,
the other a thing of beauty, hard earned.
Could mixture or song play to conclusion,
will we lose both in manic confusion.
What size the trouser press,
to fit the girth of more or less.
Stretch the fabric and split the thread,
tailors cry material wealth, not bread.
I awake to the ever-abiding soul song of life -
the sounds of mothers calling young in fresh near light.
While the timely rooster crows and colour spirits bestir
for control of the far horizon various hued inks fight.
Stirring to the florid smell of sated, calm earth
moisturised by Jack Frost’s recent fresh-dewed call
the distant gentle pound as ocean quenches thirsty shore
a serenity which darkness has settled over all.
I reside in the cold hours of dawn
My pain of existence intensifies
Crystal clear clarity pierces right through me
This hate I feel for myself
Freezes in my veins
Hot tears stain my barren cheeks
And scar my imperfect soul
They say you have to love yourself before others can
But self-loathing is already a part of me
My hostility and sorrow make me who I am
So should I just wallow in the egotistical train of thought
and persist in my hurting?
Susan and I have been snowed in for 4 days................
Of course you know that I love you
but why must you breathe so loud
and every time you come in view
I feel like I'm in a large crowd
I know my rocking chair is squeaking
thus disrupting your slumber
must your lips move so while speaking ?
and you snore like you are cutting lumber
What's that about my new cologne ?
which I use when I groom
won't you just leave me alone
remove Your perfume's cloud from the room
Some One Awaits
Some one awaits me
Far away in a land called destiny,
He loves me
Not my poetry
But hits a tick for each
He’s married,
A Gemini he,
I told him he’d fall for me.
He swore he won’t,
But yesterday he sent a note
Oh Love,
I miss thee.
None Lover Friend
.
.
DIDN'T THEY TELL YOU?
Ain't it funny how you sold your soul
For a paltry bit of miser's gold?
Your eyes have died, your face is made of wood...
Didn't they tell you now of Judas?
Didn't they tell you how he would as
Soon have paid back twice the sum... if he but could?
The liquid passion in your eyes
sucks me into the vortex of desire
released from its nether depths
we neck in the bubbly aftermath
floating on its ripples like Swans
soaked in goose bumps
listening to our heart's hub dub
receding into blissful sighs
The love once shone pure white,
now forever lost from my sight;
A moment lost, I cannot gain back,
of the carefree innocence we now lack
That hour in time eludes capture,
I go on with a wisp of that wonderful rapture.
He goes to work each morning
often before its light
careful to remember
the things he must get right.
The traffic is often heavy
the sky is often grey
but he has to make the best of things
to get him through the day.
He goes back home each evening
sometimes after dark
too late to see those he loves
and take them to the park.
He feels a little weary
with nothing much to say
and slowly drifts off to sleep
too tired to save his day.
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