Kronos, who steadfastly, slowly crept
in my childhood Mays
now sprints past, sometimes in spasms
seemingly, sometimes, jumping whole days

I wander in a beautiful garden
in those missing hours
memories are misty in my mind
but I still can smell the flowers

a face fades in and out of my vision
a stranger, yet I should know him
I stare at pleading, soul ravaged caverns
as sparkling diamonds form at their rim

A dark and dreary day it could have been,
A funeral procession,
Heads hung in mourning numbers,
A young woman in infinite slumber,
Buried in rich red velvet and dark mahogany;
Her friends and family in agony.
They ask, "Why did she want to leave?
To go, and make us grieve?"
The thick gray headstone might have read,
Our daughter, Forever, we lay her to bed.
Then they'd walk away, weeping
And she'd just be sleeping...

The night spreads its wings of darkness
across the heavens- above
as the moon's graceful light returns,
greeting the mistress earth,
joined by the clustered stars,
the twinkling diamonds of paradise,
listening to the song of the crickets
which breaks the silence
in the air.

“… for man’s society is at an end.”
Announcers can be rather dull at need,
especially when spewing such a feed.
“There’s naught much else to say than that, my friend”.

The last ‘lectronic voice went round the bend.
He too had friend and family to feed.
The all that now is left, a solemn creed,
is trust that God an Angel born will send.

In deepest jungles of the R. O. C.,
a dozen men and women labor long
to find that which Man’s certain can’t be found.

the rich get rich, the poor get poorer, true
as finance funds the power structure quest
affluent with authority are blest
while making rules that benefit the few

with ignorant and selfish aims they screw
just anyone they can, from east to west
not caring half a damn who’s life's a jest
for others’ pain and care, they have no clue

The robin sings it's song atop the tree.
A tuneful sound, resounding melody.

The ROB /in SINGS /it's SONG / a TOP / the TREE
a TUNE / ful SOUND, / re SOUND / ing MEL / o DY

----------- iambic pentameter --------------

I haven't got the time, so says the clock,
my gears are failing, hence I've lost my tock.
My springs have gone all rusty with decay,
and so I can't recall the time of day.

I am only half

In 1970's I died in an accident
went to heaven

My doggy belt was held by my wife
as a dogs
and she pulled me back alive
I was recalled by humans

Half side almost dead
left-hand side of head
was bloated red

How I wish I had flown to heaven

Now again in late 1990's
I faced a calamity
the brain was again fractured
half an eye
half an ear
nerves pulsating

I love to walk in the damp fountain air
Watching those irreverent, inverted pissing geysers
Plummet on the great Man, in broad daylight streams

Lost in the ice, what would he give?
For such temperate relief as this.
I breathe in the moisture and look up at the sky of polarized dreams.

All is well, and I fill in the day, with the great slanted colour of rain,
I don’t care if the wind is wild in St David’s park
And sidelong blows, lead trees gracefully astray

(for Eric Christopher Crawford, R.I.P. my friend)

There is a breath to live; a breath to die.
Your last exhaled beneath a killing moon;
a drawn and gasped a hundred years too soon
as we invent a god to question why.

All dressed in paint and Sunday's best, you lie,
another victim to that cancer goon;
another saint amidst a bag pipe tune.
What reason is there, that I cannot cry?