.
in the now
immediacy infusing my psyche
no thought of before or after
aware only of that crack in time
in which I exist while floating
on solid ground

accompanying myself on some quest
or pilgrimage
-- an unknown undertaking of
momentous significance
the thought of which brightens truth

experience fragmented
united
absurd
meaningless nothings
making infinite sense as
flawless, complete, perfect sanity

For Paradise is made of brutal stuff.
But fools strive for the hopelessly mundane,
while Hell shall offer good men quite enough.

One’s honor is a cold, contentious bluff.
Thence, why inquire at Valhalla’s pain,
for Paradise is made of brutal stuff.

No one of us, the frail or ersatz tough
can live a life of truth and Heaven gain
while Hell shall offer good men quite enough.

A man of high regard avows with fluff,
his lies contrived to purify God’s stain,
for Paradise is made of brutal stuff.

I am traversing
a universe of wonders
where, through mankind's inventiveness
we hear the sounds of the cosmos

I can listen to
volcanoes serenade stars
suns sing to mountains
black holes moan in chorus

abiding vibration
resonating

and, here
in the endlessly moving tapestry of eternity
where I am poised between before and after
in a present impossibly intangible

where the moment I reach for the future
it slips through my hold to the past

Original

Spring is heralded by tubular bells
filling the woods with hyacinth smells
violet, white and lavender blue
caught in the droplets of morning dew.

and the cuckoo calls in the half moon light
in the silver grey just after night
his partner chuckles cloaked in the dawn
happy the robin is rearing her spawn.

while poppies undress their whorl sepals
unfurling crumpled silken petals
revealing pinks, oranges and reds
blushing colours in the flower beds.

Poetic Resume

To pen the pain a heart has known,
the anger of a soul,
are things a poet does without regret
no matter where one’s thoughts are blown
or how one plays the role,
a bard’s resolve is often hard beset

My unsheathed sword is dulled
with gelatinous gruel
I smile slowly
I'm a survivor

I've wrought woeful horror
on unsuspecting neighbour
I smile cruely
I'm a lover

If I was the Knight-in-armor
with battles brought before kings
The rose-tint of history
would excuse these things

But I'm not

I'm a modern barbarian
and ours is the fury
that shall not speak it's name
for the want of salvation

.
as the crab sleeps gradual and gently
in the slow boiling pan of cuisine
do I doze in the pot of the physical
forgetting where I have been

letting it slip from memory -
the wondrous awareness of
a place of marvel far removed from
this reality that I quaff

am I becoming entwined in the worldly
in stupor of who I am
with amnesia of the other me
and thus from true knowing banned

Beast exhaust
the tired breath
hot as cinders
she nudges the
dull edge of the
heater to porcelain
cream shade
her eyes are solid
pools aqua verte
the shimmering
width dark centered
fixed on the horizons
extension

further then further
tired
is she going to cry
I need the money
The motor turns
over slow like
the sun on the
dirty sands
The magnetos
need attention