A poem simply sounds the bell, of that which words could never tell.


Curiosity will never cease,
Our questions,
Of that original quest,
For more,
Fruitfully born,
As the hand of time
Gently disturbs
The pieces,
The shapes,
The colours,
The light,
Imperceptible - almost,
Briefly settling,
Only to be propelled again,
Across the mirrors of mind,
Each instant,
A uniquely intimate dream,
A chaotic growing,
Yet all safely contained.


As if the spaces in between
Contained the rainbow,
A portent of colour 
Yet unseen,
Thoughts of yellow
Blue and green,
Life, before the living,
Imagining a sun,
A glistening dream of oceans
Lapping warm sands to run,
A new race in embryo, 
Waiting for the gun.


Loosed from mighty archer's bow
Time to come and long ago
The force of an arrow 
That cannot fly,
Yet so slender, 
One hair 
Of never to be,
As pared from this narrow 
All that is nigh.


Some will say
The moon is cold,
Not I,
Not I,
A wonder to behold
Whose alabaster glow
I know of old,
Present tonight,
Igniting a deep coil
The wick of memory,
Never running dry,
Burning the oil
Of infancy,
My quick,
The by and by,
Some will say
The moon is cold,
Not I,
Not I,
But comfort,
Set there
In the sky.


I heard my son cry out aloud
From the land of yet-to-be,
Demanding safe passage,
Your slipway to this world,
The nurture of your taut, silken breast,
And to know just how adored,
Basking, uninterrupted,
In the warmest deep
Of your loving eyes,
The luxurious feel,
That tumbling spring
Of your raven curls in his playful grasp,
Fully restored by unity's hot seal,
As naked bellies rise and fall,
In most comfortable sleep.


Every man nurtures the future of innocence,
Fathered in the womb of his own intent.


Tired of spinning galaxies
Responsive to his beck & call,
He's now acquired the power to see
The monsters on his bedroom wall.


Liberty dances 
In a tight-fitting gown,
But the line she draws 
Gives no cause to frown.


A thousand new horizons
Nestle, gleaming in between
The distant sky and ocean
Of someone else's dream,
Where flinted sparks of sunlight
Dance a tip-toe 'cross the floor,
And faintly breathes the swell that sighs
Upon their farthest shore.


All that's dear & clear outlined, 
A dark mascara comes to mind, 
Perhaps are scraps just left behind, 
Upon a table for the blind.


Easily I am deceived,
And prone to misconception,
For that alone which is perceived
By me, is but perception.


At the merest hint, we tremble,
As whispering nature, 
In mute humility so restrained,
Ignores that beauty we adore,
And cloaked beneath a decorous grace,
Our awe is thus by her contained,
Designed and distant from our days,
Touching her face, but in human ways,
Politely and discretely,
Comforted from harm,
Heads buried in delicate sensibility,
Reading the absurd, appreciative word,
Held at the length of protective arm,
Spelled on the tip of tepid tongue,
Smothered with gentility,
Concealed, entombed in darkened rooms,
Cowering from recognition,
Inside this margin of skin and womb,
Sprawls indeed, the same wilderness,
Within our heart moves a restless stampede, 
Her blooded hooves thundering in our veins,
Those beams of sharp, unreasonable sunlight 
Gleam brightly from our eye, 
Vast, mindless oceans of power,
Surge and crash upon our shore,
And her careless hurricanes of death,
Inspire our unbridled season for more.


The sumptuous sweetness
Of her generous smile,
Laid siege
To all my tomorrows.


There is no vault strong enough,
To render our secrets impotent,
No matter what we may believe.
They shimmer with all the colours of a rainbow,
Something the tongue can never achieve.


On an invisible stair,
Rising to 
We know not where,
Written in the air,
Thinking they
Will take us there.


Our secret,
Safe for eternity,
With a familiar smile,
Amusing itself,
With strawmen
And windmills.


The sky knows every secret 
Breathed by every soul 
And paints them from a rainbow 
Upon this earthen bowl.