REMEMBRANCE

The once proud poppy,

Armed with thorn,

Its battlefields,

From history,

Torn,

To stain this street

With innocent spoil,

Whose colour now,

Is blood and oil.

FUTURE KIND

The eyes of the future,

Looking back at me,

What do they see,

Those children.

Have I designed

A torturous maze,

In which they find

Their lives,

Their days,

Innocent hearts

That now so hopeful gleam,

Entrusting me,

With an unknown dream. 

POLITICS

Cut them down,

Those dusty puppets of reason,

Whose musty ventriloquism

Through flaky, painted smiles,

Is treason to the heart.

MY SAFE PLACE

The way in,

Not too tall,

That none may enter,

Standing,

Save for the child,

The inside

Carefully guarded

By a bow,

Beyond is blood,

Mud and wild,

Left as shoes

Outside the door,

Be seated,

Curl upon the floor,

Sharing breath,

The fire is warm,

Brightened by our offerings

Of kindness,

Safe from harm,

The invitation is to feel,

And in touching,

To reveal,

In gentle singing,

The whispering

Of heart to heart,

Resting,

Dreaming dreams

Of how to heal.

WIZARDRY

The bright, silvery steel of intention,

Ricochets into the machine,

Flipped and bounced,

With alarming bells and violent klaxons,

From cushioned pillars of expectation,

Propelled into traps,

Spring-loaded with doubt,

A short-lived game,

That dies to sarcastic fanfare,

And unforgettable, flashing neon,

Spelling tilt,

Guilt,

And frustration.

RING A RING

As growth rings the tree,
So for me,
Yet invisibly,
As memory,
And knowledge,
Fused at conception
In a cellular super nova,
Releasing another potent life,
Into orbit,
Around its own sun,
Its own, originating star,
The shining blueprint
Of its own design,
Streaming outwards,
To occupy space,
To dwell as time,
An emerald heart,
With sapphire mind,
Skin tight liberty,
And a furnace of gold,
The only reflection
I behold,
As growth pours in,
And life flows on,
Encircled by the snares
Of knowledge,
And memory,
Is of a light,
That is free,
To live and love,
As brightly,
As its imagination dares.

SNAKE

As the snake
May taste its tail,
So may we
Know time,
Neither ending
Nor ever begun,
Yet there,
Somewhere,
Between tail,
And tongue.

MY CAT

Why does my cat
Look me in the eyes?
What is it there,
That equally applies,
More so than to care
For the perils of feet,
That seem incomplete
With their strange lack of hair,
Or coats that change,
As do the skies?
Why does my cat
Look me in the eyes?

WHERE?

To where might we fall,

Releasing those taught, 

Moral guides,

To stare at lust,

With our heart's intent,

Not so much

The slaying of a dragon,

As holding hands with innocence,

Playing shadows,

On the wall.

SLEEP

To be cradled,
By angels,
While I sleep,
In love as high,
As my darkness
Is deep,
With Holy kindness,
Rid my blindness,
And bid this heart
Ne'r need to weep.

GREAT SPIRIT

Great spirit,

Whose ghostly face

I see,

Where sound 

Be heard,

Or light

Observed,

Hiding,

Just before the ear,

Secreted in the eye,

Quivering

Within the tongue,

To steal sweet textures,

Or perched,

To pluck a fragrance

From the air,

Forever young

Your beating heart,

And fleet your feet

Upon the ground,

Shifting there,

As all the shapes,

Thus designed.

There,

Outlined

By the grace

And favour

Of curious delight,

Might your face

Be found. 

HUNGER

The oppressive pecking 

Of narcissistic ravens,

Stealing every errant crumb,

The vacancies of their gut,

Sharpen a cruel gaze,

That wastes nothing,

In this thievish alchemy,

The cheapest paste,

Transforms

To jewels. 

STAR

I remember this bright star,

Whose light bestows my liberty,

Banishing afar,

Those shadows of desire,

For this itself is my fire,

Its warm flame of fullness,

Only felt,

Through this crack in time,

An axis for heaven or hell in turn,

Where burns the lustre of idle dreams,

To ash and wholesome plenitude.

MILLSTREAM MIDNIGHT

This body,

A mere token of my presence,

As the wind whispers its advance,

A secret splash,

Another presence

In the cold, black,  

Reflective calm

Of the wide mill stream,

Before me,

Now retired from industry, 

Resting in its own nature,

As am I,

In this moment,

Seeing,

Without looking,

Hearing,

Without listening,

Being,

Without trying,

As the trees dissolve

Their luminous,

Silver laced contour,

With the dark sky,

Unbothered by the clouds,

Yielding to the breeze,

The stream flows on,

Silently,

Only the reflection

Does not move,

But shimmers,

Pierced, occasionally,

With the silhouette

Of a drifting duck,

Or moorhen,

Whose wild cackles

I pretend not

To understand.

The lights softly glowing

Behind drawn curtains,

In a mansion,

Dwarfed,

By the nature

It gazes upon.

The tall poplar spires,

Hushing sentinels

Against a streaking

Orange hem.

An invisible midnight,

Has come,

And gone,

Even the church bell,

Missed its passing.

I slip back,

Into my rags,

My role,

And my car,

With only the mud

On my shoe,

To remind me

Of fairy tales.

INNOCENCE

Innocence, 

Sweet flower of bliss,

The perfect child,

In boundless meadow,

Perfectly wild,

Naught to lose,

And naught to gain,

Save the kiss

Of sun and rain,

Heeding not

The gardner's hand,

Nor in need

Of other land.