underneath the layers
of malice
there grows a palid
umhumbled deprived
gullish
to one day it will vanish
without you and perish
yourself
amazes at the past
and how things gast
undo fast
nice feelings blast
pass bad and vast
naturally they last

THUMBS UP

Does anyone here own a set of golf clubs?
And does your wife nag if you use them?
(Some wives are quite happy to use local pubs
To avoid the golf club’s sad amusements)

But men bred in Fife are a different class.
For golf is their only addiction.
And though they may not be averse to a glass
To accuse them of more would be fiction

This story begins on the Leven golf course,
On the tee at the eighth, a par 5.
My good friend, Wee Ginger, was bad, getting worse,
Had developed a hook with each drive.

surety praises
a false dawn blossoming
like glittering eyes
a snarl on whitened teeth
drawn behind damp lips
suffused with pious and pity

deep within
a heart wrung
jittered
in the ruin of taut
folds a cleft forfeit
trickles hot sequence

each restless motion
over waves like water
the liquid want
like a dark rush

an elongated spinal arch
like a bow stretched
for her archer
the fingers tossing
through a mane of tease

Sexy lies the dawn
as It holds
my longing eyes,
surely but slowly
you alone seem to fill the gap
between me and the rising sun

you burn me more
than would the fireball
that too
from a far off distance
as I feel your nearness and warmth
much more

our bodies collide and graze
sparks emblaze
as the fire works
put down the sun
this dawn becomes the loveliest morn

Soon she will fold him
like one of his shirts on
the ironing board, like
one of his cheap cotton
underpants in the draw.

Soon she will whiten
his face, wipe all the
stains, all the little
dribbles of outrage
from his mouth clean
like one of her newly
laundered sheets.

She knows the
news to come.
He has betrayed her
once again, forgotten
her like their dog outside
the post office, left her in
the kindergarten of his
heart to wait .

Again

i am young in my dreams again.
i can shoot marbles and win again.
the rail line still shivers under the
patient iron wheels of a train that
passed all those years ago. i still
wear the hole in my shaded pants
which my mother meant to mend.
i still chase after the pigeon that
escaped to the gutter on the roof.
my teacher dusts his well-worn
shoes before he turns to the
homework we did not do.

A tantalizing sight amongst the dream of days
an almost imperceptible image as the sunlight plays.
I reach out but find reality wanting
I falter and hesitate to seem assenting
to dark and lustful thoughts arriving
from the murky fog of magical mountain pathways.

The likeness takes on a sensual presentation
Should I flee this fast approaching demon
Dark and heavy beside the tomb
over-powering dazzling lights in the gloom.
Crazy! This fast approaching portent of doom
creates no response just absolute resignation.

rock the comfort
arm round
heart bound

the falling past the thoughts
shone luminous
born treacherous

pressed scrawled
in push script
bloodrun
an ink
viscous
a moment vicious

beneath
below
upon a new ideal
run

the droplets loved
a couplet urn
caught hurled
in pyre
overturned
spread hot
this ire

relinquish vows
caught choked
behind the veiled
clasp
a lucid grasp

Exodus

Feral soul amongst the reeds
lying still in stagnant bog
listening to nature’s song
performed by cricket, loon, and frog

hiding from the rage of men
that hunt him for his hue of skin
black as Mississippi mud
though his heart be free from sin