TAKING STEPS

I climbed imaginary steps
For a higher view,
And found me
Looking down on you,
So I kicked them away,
And the rope around my neck,
Broke my fall.

LETTER FROM BOB

I will admit
A craving to travel,
While I suck and spit,
Rearranging
the gravel,

Dream on - Bob,
Dream on . . .

Till no stone
is left unturned,

There's no real chance
For a searching soul
To escape
from the trance
Of a goldfish bowl,

Dream on - Bob,
Dream on . . .

Glasshouse lessons 
still unlearned,

It's a dream of mine
To swim a straight line,
An ocean, 
a river
Or even a stream,

Dream on - Bob,
Dream on . . .

To be out of reach,
should the cat bore of cream . . .

SONG

Eyelids may shut, 
To enclose us within our dreams,
Breathing suspended, 
Ghosts may sleep on, 
Undisturbed 
By the long reaching arm of fragrance,
But there is one gateway remains, 
Completely unguarded, 
An open well shaft 
Falling straight to the soul.
The voice, the ear.
The pegasus of sound, 
Softly feathered and floating, 
Descends unimpeded 
To those depths of incandescent brilliance.
And riding bareback, 
A host of invisible messengers, 
Unobserved, 
Silently informing secrets.
The gentle currents of their language 
Adding a subtle,
Yet vibrant symphony. 
I hear not a sweet melody alone,
But accompanied 
By a choir of angels.

SIREN

Had I but one
Mortal heart,
It now lays split in two,
Pierced by a purity,
A sweet, silken duet,
Of tender lips
And bejewelled soul.
In the mist rising
From the ocean of my dreams,
There she sits,
Glistening,
Upon a dark rock,
Favouring her jet black hair
With an idle combing,
Eyes cast down
At a reflection
Too charmed,
That all who hear
This siren song -
And dare to glimpse
The ivory breast,
The raven cascade,
The cherry-ripe lips,
Eyes,
That distant sunshine bring,
The shimmering
Of a rainbow tail,
As lazily
It stirs the sea -
Will take that final memory,
And two pieces of heart,
To the deep, dark,
Bottomless blue,
The comforting canyon
Of death.

STORM

A line of gibbous deckchairs
Emptied by a storm,
Flappering accompaniment,
While white gulls
Squawk and swarm.

MOMENTS

Moments,
Like snowflakes
Enclosed in the hand,
Drift
Across my mind . . .

BREATH OF HEAVEN

How gently we are born 
Upon the wind of change,
That mighty storm
Reaching us as barely a whisper,
How softly we are carried
From moment to moment
With scarcely a hair to rearrange.

AT LAST

Only since man, has there been a better plan,
As we pushed through darkness, towards the sun,
The flowering of that timeless seed,
At last, at last, has just begun.

THE DREAMER

We import
The world of open eyes
Into our dreams,
And lend the dreamer
A definition
He does not own.

GOOD FORM

Your vision of me
Is my single covering,
And mine, of thee,
Thy soul's only modesty.

HATCHING

Can we piece together again

Our confinement,

From the laughing fragments

Of its shattering?

STRIP JOINT

Would you strip away

All that is warm with hope,

Mysterious,

Full of promise,

With the scalpel of your curiosity,

Pare me to skeletal bone,

Enchained forever by your sight,

Your eyes,

Your knowing,

A camera, to steal another soul,

A cage, repealing flight,

A pot, in which to miniaturise,

Is that who you would have me be,

A confirmation of mortality?

WHATNOT

A potter,
While glazing
The outside
Of his pot,
Is amazingly
Glazing
The inside
Of what's not.

HIGH TIME

A tide is rising high within,
Of a vast, reflective sea,
That hides with love,
Yet fast begins
To uncover eternity.

OLD WINE

I remember knowing

Warmth & desire,

Glowing embers

Of long distant fire,

To share a pillow,

Limbs entwined,

A new flavour

For an ancient wine,

As passion stirs

From banishment,

Wearing

Its ill-fitting coat

Of chastity,

Its wild obsession,

Shunned,

Its myopic vision,

Unwelcome,

Its choicest words

Best left unsaid,

Still unspoken

Inside the head,

Hoisted,

In their own

Eternal wondering,

Perhaps discretion

Is the better friend,

Without beginning,

Or pointless end.