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


We meet
In the silence,
In the stillness, 
By the shape
Of reason.


Seek between that quantum narrow, 
Aim unseen by white of eye, 
Your target, one with flight of arrow, 
Centred in I am, am I.


We are the rainbow,
The rain
And the sun,
The liberty lost
Before striving begun,

We are the silence,
The calm
In the storm,
Clouds changing shape,
Yet escaping all form.


That piercing truth,
That jagged awakening,
Defying the smooth curves
Of nature's gentility,
The sharply faceted,
Blinding diamond,
The stake to the heart
Resistant to
Immediate familiarity,
Slipping away into
Comfort's contour,
The sword from the stone,
The bolt from the blue,
To split asunder
Those conforming dreams,
The shattering intrusion,
The irrefutable shock,
Are these not
Nature's ways,
Never turning
In her sleep,
No night time horror
Disturbing her
Most lawful play?


That soft, 
Fleeting kiss 
Of now,
Upon the cheek,
The sparse dusting
Of its sensation,
Escaping proof,
For eternity,
Melting between
The crevice-way,
Briefly visible
In all that is unseen,
Though majestically,
Little more than
That none
May confirm,
Yet stands
So bold
And proud
In memory.


Most devilish alchemy,
Transmuting death,
From Liberty,
How brave the truth
That stands,
Eternally proud,
Against such ruthless flailing,
Where all become,
In honour's failing,
The enemy of a few,
Bitter, cheapened lives,
Whose blood
Now mingles
With the freedom
So despised,
A short taste for them,
In their final breath,
Of how we dream,
Of what our burden's for,
To live with love,
Each day for more,
No destiny
Upon some further shore.


How exotically curious
It is to be,
Of infinite possibility,
There is no variety
Of me,
The mirror for a soul,
And its rejoicing.
I know not,
The magic
That lets me be,
But basking
In its supremacy,
Love rebounds
From its contraction,
Seeking only
To be free.


The prodigal son
Of success,
In extreme,
An automaton,
Of the American dream,
With the loud bluff
Of a powerful nation,
And the puff of proud
Separation made,
A black-smoked conflagration,
The zenith of disintegration,
Snakes its way
From constitutional stockades.



Run to the rivers,

Run to the sea,

Take these tears,

That spring from me,

And just as prayers

Can fall with rain,

Spare us all

From dust,

And pain.



The once proud poppy,

Armed with thorn,

Its battlefields,

From history,


To stain this street

With innocent spoil,

Whose colour now,

Is blood and oil.


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. 


Cut them down,
Those dusty puppets of reason,
Whose musty ventriloquism
Through flaky, painted smiles,
Is treason to the heart.


The way in,
Not too tall,
That none may enter,
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,
Dreaming dreams
Of how to heal.


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,
And frustration.


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.