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There is always a poem after this one;
the understudy to today's centre stage:

This poem however, is never unimportant,
it is as individual as the poem that follows;
many written poems have unwritten forbears-
each poem is breathed and lived; rarely spoken.

The panorama of this poem is found in one place –
the window of its reader's imagination;
so each poem is the beginning point
of new journeys that we join with the poet.

In hoary woods I sit alone
hardly breathing, quiet and still
breeze sings a mournful monotone
penetrating bones with sneaky chill

There's little warmth in winter's sun
within this sky of clear deep blue
above a world of gray and dun
where yellow flowers one time grew

Yet this watch I still must stay
and attempt to stay alert
if need be 'till the end of day
while wearing camo coat and shirt

PAGES

Is your mind an open book,
Can they look inside your head?
Do you only still show pages you want read?

What do you tell them when the Horror
Leaves you chilled and drenched in bed?
Are you still oppressed by dreams in Black and Red?

Have you found the man who’s shown you
How to overcome your dread-
Shown you how to pluck those pictures from your head?

Written at midnight thinking
of my TAO photograph:-

Rowing into The Understanding
some of us get to
the other side.

Stepping off the edge
will I sink
or swim

The moon smiles
the stars wink
was it me who blinked

The night shivered
the bushes grew
who knew.

Under the clouds
lies the City
how do you know

Beneath the water
fish swim free
the heron's eye.

The wood lies
the sea turns over
my stomach rumbles