Her avaricious eye's
denude all they surround
flicking the salted sugar,
flavours of life fall short
with a diamond tipped tongue 
hardened, by, unending desire
of ever chaffing need, gnawing
not enough, more, more, more !

Damaged and broken
no longer a vessel of humanity,
the hunt began anew on
foreign soil, a summer rental,
this she-monster thrashes Monkey's
by out smarting the Girraff 

I am wearing

my dancing shoes
will come across some clues
when I am out of the blues

but where are my dancing shoes?
Buried with granny's jive
and behind the beehive
where now under six feet she lies

clinging on to my dancing shoes
dig up her grave will you
and
let me have my
lovely ballet golden ones
dancing shoes

I weep
because I cannot weep.
I weep
because I've locked myself
in a prison of extravagance.

On mornings like this,
a beautiful day
seems like a cruel joke.
I weep because I am wealthy,
and my wealth mocks me.

I considered the carpenter bees
that flit and land
on Solomon's Seal.
I considered my old fear of them,
turned now to admiration
at how diligent and precise they were,
flying from flower to flower,
one evicting an ant
who also worked,
diligently.

There's many shoes in her closet
From her college years,
The four inch pumps she wore,
She holds up to the light
The pumps she met him in
When she found love, had her first child,
Then jumped the broom.
Now in her silver years,
These shoes she recollects.

Heels, flip flops, sneakers, sandals covers her closet floor
She puts them back in their place.

All poems
lamenting starlight
shines reflecting,
a polar of others 
unwelcome vim

When soft breezes
Brush my face
I want to know
that unpolluted
celestial objects
will reflect
from your eyes

I need to know
across a chasm
of time, a smile
of tranquility
will greet me

I know none that
will cross rivers
of sweet dream pools
Lapping loveliness,
Moments and minutes
have Channels routed
to blind the soul

For Lady Jayne

Across the sea in wee Taree
a lady bard resides
her name is Jayne and soothing rain
her poetry provides

she writes of kings and needful things
of pleasure and concern
tales of old and fires bold
within her verses burn

He longs for her

This is a beautiful
longing for one to be longing
a different take from my make
I long for her
that she may belong to someone
who will love her
and
not only savour lips
for a momentary bliss
nor make her feel
and
believe
you love her still
as you wish
to enter into her fish
with all your force and will
and
seal as you hers’ steal
and
then run away like a seal

stopped
leaning on the wall
the whole street looks
different
the sun is brighter
I never lean
smoke a cigarette
the battered chrome
lighter rasps open
take a drag staring
off into the clouds
while traffic rolls
past..see the faces
staring out...

feel like I was coasting
rolled to a stop

You gathered the kindling and
crumpled newspapers

Carefully stacked and snapped
over an ashen knee

Timbers and sticks in your
practiced pyre

Balanced logs, swept and
wiped sweat then, waited:

A moment passed, you lit
a match and submerged it

In an ancient headline, tinder dry,
later I watched you

Slip into an involuntary skip,
a flicker of exuberance

And a flame of life, who watched me,
the expanding iris ringed with orange glow

The Devil stood before Marcus,
enjoying his grief and despair.
There's another way to break the curse
the key is a woman, so fair..

Evangeline, Marcus's real mother,
the witch-guardian of the forest
forced to hand over Marcus to another
to save him from duress.

A Devil's worshipper had seduced her
to have a child for his master's rebirth.
A mortal host, one born with power
to prove his own fealty's worth.