The stream (all workshops)
in a foggy fjord
a monk, turned warlord,
was starcrossed
by a second fate
rightous victory waned
like cold crystal diamond fire
in the big blue ice
cue up despair
like a bitter old man
like the three sorrows
that are Jerusalem
like dark houses
in mourning and rembrance
time for the big empty
wait!
a plan
a daring escape
impetuous
but, for him, as inevitable as death for all others
The Wild Side Of Oblivion
Meet me on the wild side of oblivion
By shadowed moonlight
we can play at being what we will never be
by day
Smoke filled skies
essence of dust filled dreams
astride a pure white stallion
with lightening hooves
In fields of poppies and lavender
petals for a bed
there to sleep between rain drops
and be as one
Only on the wild side of oblivion
The narrative of the occlusion speaks
in the name of god
and judgment reeks of the heaven-sent.
The eye turns inward.
How can humans be so deluded when
they possess opposing thumbs? The
monkey hurls the bone and as if
scattering ants on an ancient tree
ready to break out in war
we choose our side aided by
the
complexity gene,
patterns within patterns within
nothing at all.
nebulous wandering
over epochs of eternities
time
heaping unto us
infinite
nows
gifting our becoming
interweaving
souls into a
wonder of miracles
orbiting aeons
rhythmically
tracing sketches and profiles of
heroes and heroines
manifesting in an
orgy of
revolution, turmoil
entities colliding
transmuting
happiness and sorrow
and in this particular
now
tide moved to encourage, and
hour
in its infinite wisdom
supported my plea, so
THE CONFESSIONS OF A SPIDER
I confess
The moment wasn’t my best
I sat down beside her
for I did lust for her curves
and waves.
as I made my way
to lay
my head upn her breats
suddenly a hand sent me
into a spin
and I could sin
no more
It's not easy being a spider
in love.
simply wasted breath
The elite poets have already spoken
being adept at free verse
not boasting of being a poet at all,
I feel you have the potential
of the highest mountain,
shielding a volcano to explode.
and explode you must,
as well as explore
beyond the realms
of the poetic constraints
Shakespeare wouldn't have been living till today,
had he stifled himself
with poetic limitations
In which we prefer to chain...
This ain't about advancing age
or its affect on strength and stride
I'll not write such on this page
this old fart has too much pride
None want to hear of loss of hair
how it migrates to back and ears
why would anybody even care
to hear about the late night fears
Who cares about loved ones now passed
or the ever shrinking pool of friends
the worry that I'll be the last
of my classmates to reach their ends
silken one
a sky steeped
fetch yourself through rivers
of alleys
spires where angels kneel
fits of elation
tremble on your head
a steady remainder
of the time you were dead
I saw the happiness you
hung
like sunlight beams
for evening dance
you lay your coolness
upon my brow
the heat and thrill
a shadow chill
a curtsy bow
a black and white
recital stream
that whispers dark
a sacred dream
The photograph stills,
A face now fractured has
nowhere to look as the
photograph stills, while
coloured pain and paint
still run
There shall be no more
blushing of skin, when
a tiny word removes what
someone else has done.
Complexion, just a myth
perpetuated by a wall street
bulletin board.
When an ugly fish is captured
by the hook, it will hang silent
until it’s time comes to
be ignored.
Excuse me
for interrupting
I'm just passing through
through the membrane
of your brain
just a thought, thinking of
passing through
like a memory
galloping into view
take me now
rein me in
and I'm yours or
leave me alone
as if I never was
a war child without a home
Nourish me with distance.
Blind me with your light.
Dance me from your insight
or take from me a brilliant bite.
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