With the days
fast fading light
when all prepare to sleep
the voiceless apparitions
suddenly begin to speak

Shadow caught
in a pale moonlight
howling to
a starless night

Marauders of unspoken dream
preying upon ones fear
the veil that shrouds
subconscious mind
they rend and shred
and tear

Till they are sated
loathed and hated
these pillagers of the night

Voices take on fevered pitch
inside my head they do unhitch
the last strains of
my sanity

I lost you
because my voice
was
silent,

And now that I
have found
my voice
again,

you’re not around
to hear me
sing
and sing
and sing and sing.

Oh what a
tragic,
what a tragic,
common thing.

Now is the winter of our Brexit intent
Made glorious summer by this Lady called May;
And all the clouds that poured upon her house.

Now are our brows bound with doubts and misdeeds?
Our bruised egos hung up as monuments;
Our stern faces charged for many meetings,

Our protest marches delightfully ignored.
Grim-faces hath the cabinets endured;
To fright the souls with fearful adversaries,

But, am I not shaped for the EU’s tricks,
I, am rudely stamped on whatever I want
MP’s strut before a wanton decision less world.

Strumpet High...

Strumpet street is on a high'
magic dust has just been found.
On banker’s lane they're slapping thigh,
four hundred dollars to a pound.

The barman are all feeling glum,
alcohol not now first choice.
I guess it’s alright for some,
cash sure calms the errant voice

Different street different needs,
both afflicted by disease.
Dealer preys, user concedes,
both have an urge to please.

Lanterns shattered
scattered amid the dark
yet fertile fields
emitting fractured light

The fervent beating of broken images
trying to re light the flame
much like the frantic beat
of the hummingbirds wings

Overwhelming need
to follow the path
to fruition
not knowing where to begin
or finding resolve

Desire to goal
is a long road
without an end
perhaps never to be found

Fight one more battle
for the sake of the fight
then pretend all is right

her eyes
are whelming
with stormy surge

choking
for contempt
loathed upon her

crying
"my name means
beautiful girl"

Has any heart
been turned
completely to stone?
Green calls to us,
lushly.
It is full of rebirth
and forgiveness.

Our ears can’t shut
out the sound
of clement
waves.
We can’t turn off
the heart’s
eager beat.

As we get buried
under tons and tons
of dirt,
something in our limbs
still surges
with the instinct,

the living desire,

to claw our way
out.

As desperate
as we are,
as alive —

maybe we need
a little
help.

I feel dry
nothing left to try
time to
say
goodbye
don't ever be shy
and
ask me not why
let time fly by
the world will also
time to part comes too
for anyone including me and you
still I say and ask of you
How do you do
who!

We'll do it another day
when i can spend some time with you.
Then we can visit or play
but I have things I must get to
which tie me up throughout tomorrow.

Then we turn from those we love
to stuff that requires time from us.
Some project's push has come to shove.
Some client is raising a fuss.
Perhaps I'll be free tomorrow.

one man outlasts
many seasons

one generation outlives
the past

we are steadily
inhabiting the future

transcending yesterday’s
structures with
science and math

but we must still
stop and look

at the paintings

in our grandfathers’
hallways

read the classics
take classes
on Irish and Chinese history

photograph
the White Rhino

visit the coast
before the waters rise

because water may endure
(in all its forms)
long after
this human mystery