Vault.

I can feel you
rolling over me,
testing the resistance.
Your words pouring down,
looking for a crack,
to pry and break
and prove.
Well, I want to give you a clue:
make three turns to the right,
stop at kindness.
That’s all I ever wanted you to do.

Aunt Nell is a hundred,
telegram from the queen,
bit of a do
in a local pub,
half filled glasses of warm fizz
and she's a jolly good fellow.

Aunt Nell wasn't always Nell.
She was Nelly growing up
but she married well.
Good bone structure
opens a lot of doors,
gave her choices.

She chose an accountant no less
and became the doyen
of middle class suburbia.
Nice semi, in a good area,
just the right sort of people.
Bingo was replaced by bridge.

Even if this is a godless universe
or predetermined path applied
a new season is upon me,
it is flamed haired
and fire eyed

A new season is upon me, radiant and true
turning all the blue haze of the old world
into a red pulse renewed

I stride the streets, straddle the days
watch the noon tides braid the hill
but never knew what dark lustre lay
in dormant creeping shadows distilled

A new season is upon me, one scarce divined
frail in her beauty, it touched on me
lavishing wild in her worldly mind

Disappointment

I have learned a lesson or two
First one is
never to expect
Second one is
never to ask
and
hope from your fellows and friends
who will give what
how much
for your venture
to avoid disappointment alone
you shall have to endeavour

They all take you for granted
now why bank on us
do say
we can't even give you a dollar today
come what may
part we may
Good bye
for today

hazy nocturnia
coil of simmering
life the boil
eons of ion
compunctions clock
the magic in its tin
ticking in the soft pocket
Neons hot prowl
pulse clicking digital
quartz
maps of Beyond
free sounding
keys glimmering
swinging in
the cracks and streetcar
valleys
ribbons
arteries
the hustle shuffle
needy and greedy
glass eyes examine
flaunted flanks
torn chrome sidepanel
junction
pay it no mind driver
drive on
drive on

Here it is.

Free
A story in blank verse.

This is a story of Free as you knew him,
ere came the tale of the Mountain of List.
A tale of a pie and a wise little girl
of the sort we have seldom to know of.

Free walked in a wood (of which Stan often speaks
In his poems which have since turned to song).
A pastoral wood in which blooming’s begun
(as we know Stan would tell were he here).

In the dark age everything changed.
Everything good became rearranged:
People were animals plowing the ground,
Filthy as rodents in plague ridden towns,
Barbarians enslaved all in their glory,
Idolized the loathsome hero of their story.
Century after century the horror abounds,
How life was cheap and death always near
By the poisonous waters and foul smelling air;
There is no greater sadness than those past years
Whose crimes of cruelty are still hard to bare.

The soft gentle warmth of a Spring morning
sees sunshine and sunbeams dapple the trees.
Our season awakes, stretching and yawning,
her fanfare of bird song wafts in the breeze.

On branches, unfurl the sweet tender buds
springing to life after season’s long rest.
A carpet of green rolls out in the woods:
Winter is gone and it’s time to get dressed.

A dove in the sky
Oh you fly high
Like tie and dye
You stain my heart
Here on earth there non like you

Let me into your hearts door
Though this man is poor
The priceless gift he bears is made of love
Receive my package
It is without age
Made of love, could last timeless
Limitless my feelings keep going

A gift for you today and tomorrow
Drop away all that could bring sorrow
For this is not borrowed
It’s yours as its ours
Hours on the clock don’t matter
Only makes this gift better