The stream (all workshops)
I felt your gaze leave me
with it my whole world
fell away, I am now alone
lost and disillusioned
I am sadness and grief
behind a rabbit proof fence
there is no living without you
no meaning in the sunset
no beauty in the storm
the colour drained
from my view
all I see now is
black and white
I walk the night
searching the stars
in the black of my world
they are diminished
as the symphony of life
muted, all notes withheld
Her eyes are jewelry I never cared for until now
emerald facets set in summer freckled skin,
too soft to not be drawn to
her lips are like nothing else,
that is all,
her lips,
and I have been drunk off her tongue not enough times
a curve to fit the curve of me and
we are golden
lying there as puzzle pieces,
slipping into place as the right ones do
her hips are a battlefield
many battles lost fighting herself
but the war will be won
with a gentle hand that does no more harm
I felt it, a vast infinite space
It rang true to my inside
It was the human race
That remained out there
Beyond the space they dwelt
As this was my own being
Here within my sanctuary
It rang with love and energy
Love that flickered around
Leaping out to all it found
Beyond my boundaries
Unconditional and unashamed
I don't have to see you there
I reach you without a care
The energy flows out in waves
Has always for all my days
Tonometric
apse
say bygones
once clutched
and crumpled
sodden and faded
a plying wind
to roll the fates
just another trait
beneath the light
another fete
to celebrate life
You dance...sing...laugh and cry
say something more
about how you ploy
and
why life without love
doesn't belong to all
who amongst us
still are so strong
love is always in the air
why not with all poets
we must share
this site is a privilege
to be a part of
let love show the lover’s part
as we from here to there
across eternity dart
then someone will ask
are you naturally daft....
MY COUNTRY by Ian Thomson
The broken walls of peasants’ homes
Stand silent in mute witness here.
The land where Wallace once disdained
The power of English sword and spear.
Yet, safe above those burnt-out homes,
And always keen to bend the knee,
The feudal Lord is Scotland’s shame,
A turn-coat, always first to flee.
They think they are like ancient Gods,
But they will find that when it matters
A right arm that can wield a sword.
Has more strength than a tongue that flatters.
When I dance,
its with the butterfly
fluttering in
the morning air
zig-zagging with the music of the dawn.
When I laugh,
it's with the dead leaves
gliding in
the Harmattan
as they rustle and frolic in a flock.
When I sing,
it's with the songbird
whistling through
the frigid night
of things that move his little heart.
But when I cry, I cry alone,
and wait until,
the clouds give way,
and the butterfly, songbird, leaves
come out to play.
Are we between two facing mirrors
looking left then looking right
at infinite decreasing images
formed by bounced reflected light?
But we can only look one way
as we wave and watch reflections mimic
having no way to be sure
if other ones show the same gimmick
And even in the one direction
the processions cannot all be seen
we can't truly see them all at once
are all those eyes which I see green?
The fact that
the poetic acumen
I have or had,
has been milked
by none less than Jess....
I must confess
else I would have
gone away
In the midst of snowy forests to stay
and
from such lovely poets
kept away.
But the very fact
you read me
kick me
and
love me
''I love it too ''
Except , when you abuse
then alone I accuse
that's not my muse
The Final Hunt
Elemental elderberry drooping from its vine
thrives along a rock wall near the wood
habitat for fat, old turkeys, deer and porcupine
and sundry birds who think it very good
here I sit with trusty weapon nestled in my lap
watching every rustle of the trees
hoping that the autumn sunshine won’t bring on a nap
or that I do not cough or start to sneeze
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