I come to you with sword in hand

That noble cause with no recompense

a servant of the people

I am the master of my fate

from the masters wheel,

with molten steel-and sleipnir

I ride the wind

my cape flares with justice.

There are dangerous men about,

seeking to kill me

my sword drips with blood.

defender of the oppressed

Yet from the roof tops,

I caught a glimpse of you,

flaring in your beauty,

awakened my ...fire.

your eyes touched me physically

swept
softness swallowing
light
the dark permeates
up leg lengths
the bannister
slipping like a staff
into the pool
below

the black fear
that trickles up the
street from townes
edge
the rivers saviour
bridge
rust crumbing
the steel plates
eroding like minutes
on the wind up
school watch

cars with no exhaust
prowl...a primal crash
out against the boundaries
of their need

the hot bowls
the needles bite
come daytime
the ordinary go
about making up their slice

heaven and apple pie

roll over while the murky
water in the air spits
the fan catching it
the black emblazed leather
couch full of your limbs
scattered like winter
branchs brought down
like live wires in the
eastern storms

your pale winter pallor

we are as wide this hate
as the black deep river
held up on a miracle like
the bridge

the sunshine finds me
warms my chest
a wave on the way in

an angel at the pawn shoppe
will greet me
take my warm silver from
my fingers

keep a ratio of my soul
until next time

..

A child born with a mighty gift,
her life destined to be riddled
with great pain and grief
as she faced endless trials.

In her youth, she has yet to learn
to control and tame her power,
thus her sleep is haunted by visions,
ones engulfed in true horror,
startling her awake, screaming
and her mother will come rushing
cradling her, softly praying
while she trembled, sweating.

i

Rogue memories
prisoners in a cage
blockages in the
arteries
of time and space

ii

Laced with sensuality
the illusion grows
the myth is perpetuated
the search
for the perfect satisfaction
intensifies
the more it intensifies
the deeper the entrapment

iii

Within your own head
within your own being
is a vast ocean
of freedom
navigate it
with cat like alertness
and quiet aplomb

iv

On my fortieth she bought a dozen red roses
Not being able to attend the party

Burnt petals became an archive, dried
in a flat pottery dish

15 inches in diameter
Three inches in height, sides scalloped
A blue that Ms. Lena approved

Of me, too

Mom died, but the petals
I dried, displayed
in Grandma’s dish
Resided for a decade

Safe, assured and taken for granted

Till one day, I needed that dish
to hold the water of a potted hibiscus
that meant something just as dear

Spirited winter shadows,
silhouettes loosed and unencumbered.
In the rising light they joyfully play
Granted life, just once in each new day.
Black in the midst of golden vapours
Creatively dancing forest capers.
Each and every one, animated by the sun.

Spectrum of moments
refracting bleak and bright shades
fading in to white

We all will be memories one day...
buried or cremated...
as times do change
those buried now
we know don't attend
others funerals in return
yet take up a chunk of land
lots of timber to burn
now electric cremation
is awesome
and
marble for those
who love to be buried....
Just for a day’s visit
every one year
so tis better to be cremated
save the vast lands and woods
and
all memories are the same
in burial or ashes
But it’s a known fact
that all will go