To take black ink and write like crying
about February spleen
while snow's melting out loud
in lines of burning spring and sleet.

To take a cab, transcend through air-ringing,
through chimes,
through clanking of the hooves
into the land where showers are leaning
against the roofs.

Where like enchanted charred pears
thousands of rooks will sway
into the puddles and will shatter
dry sadness of your eyes away.

“In the Weindorfer Forest”

Tides of wind are regally swinging
King Billy pines, and nuzzling all
the indescribable things below

only the lens of eye to capture real beauty
only the thin drum to hear
the tick of accumulated mist
on to the clock of forest floor
then bitten on the ear

only the nose to breathe in the
slow seeped sap
and only to the mind to run
to where all this wonder might
be tapped

Or, what strangeness of place
this green haven might trap.

From ashes of lost love
and bleak autumn tears
she has built a shelter,

where the chilled rain,
as it caresses the brook,
is her only companion.

The rusty mix of colors,
dulled leaves in decline,
speaks well of her heart.

Breathing from her soul
she makes one last spark,
and the campfire is lit.

It cannot keep her warm
it’s just so lovely to look at.

Musicians have great arms,
with tats,
skinny legs and great cheekbones.
Their eyes are deep,
and say come to bed with me.

Shmucks!
Think I’m gonna fall for that again?
Let them play their stringed phalluses,

I’m gonna write a bitter poem,
full of the joy of liberation.

And some regret,
singers know how to use their tongues.

It was late in history
the cities had flourished,
grown into bound structures.

Bounded by the reflective walls.
My England had shrunk
Into blobs of black
Surrounded by tilled land

The realm of machines
The out lands of growth
Machine controlled
Then control from the city

Operators playing games
A game called survival
Between each city a link
The new inter city way

Compartmented travel
London to Manchester
City linked to city
Spaces of beauty kept

PART ONE 1
Fantasy only
Who was she.
(the gals at the beach
who ask my camera not me)

Last night
at a COCKTAILS PARTY
she came out from the crowd
unknown
started fiddling with my tie...
Who was she...

She smiled
a guy stood by
unperturbed
she stared playing with my tie

LOVELY TIE
she softly uttered
Yes I said this is a lovely one
the only one

she said I know
how did you

Over head the large limbs soar
As they have so many years before
Kindred to the Ents of yore

There likely will never be
Rings counted in this ancient tree
Even though oak is in demand
Loggers will never rape this land

I saw them there in the grass
So many nodding white flowers.
They seemed to be watching the earth
Their little pure heads bowed.

Time passed they faded and died
I was sad as I knew they were heralds
They greeted the spring afraid to look up
Lest they remember the chill winds

Joy to me they were replaced so quickly
A sea of yellow, with trumpets blowing.
A sound that only the Gods would hear
Letting them know that the spring was here.

A cold front is crossing the nation-
The emperor retreats to his tropical palace,
As those who compete in the arenas of power
Return to their provinces to curse this place-
A swamp of bribery and tax collectors
Who rub each other’s elbows to survive.

This city is of the mighty; London, Paris, Rome,
The epicenter of our time. The schemes
Of every tribe on earth cross in the traffic zones-
The center of all laws and lawlessness.
Here are wars declared and treaties revised.

Once a friend told me
Hi you are getting grey so early
I was just maybe in my thirties
here apply this cream
your hair won't ever turn white
note I said ''ever''
NEXT week I told him
all my hairs had fallen
see idiot
how right I was
I had said won't grow grey
ever

I am now a classified astrologer lol
some guy he ...