Frost
was a wonder poet

Frost
now frosted by time
as we all some day
will and shall and must and ought to be
as time spares none
neither you nor me //I

so as our time goes by
let us our minds
in the wilderness freely fly
seek the unknown
and mark in stone
someday we shall also be known
as engraved pieces of clay
with homes unknown
let us frost
ere snow arrives
who knows what may later arise
and we will be lost in oblivion
and
with no surprise
nor a prize

Late Alfred Digit

I received a large registered letter today
It was strange as it came from far away
It was from some unrecognised attorney
It said contact him, as it would benefit me

They were sorry about the delay from them
The information was from way back when
At school in my sixth form years I had a friend
I was kind to him, and to him did money lend

Time to hang the coat on the hook
obey the curator's chiding look
and stare at the roaring darkness till dawn.

A sleepless night of hourly chimes:
Aubade is worth two lifetimes
of rummaging for a philosophy of death.

Here is the Poetry, left on the shelf
by the fast generation, weary of wealth
rushing ever nearer, to the unexamined end.

Where all days collide and darkness brims;
He gladly sucked through thickest rims
to the ever decreasing circle of his eye.

broker heel
bent the inspection
the crisp hinge
we slush coated
our hearts
and jumped
into the mad rush

plunged into
velveteen jags
with the papers
struck with wind
their disease of
gossip
lapping up the rain

and through the
peephole
the drops
were sopped
while a soundtrack
framed
sequential
touchs
falling off
the feather boa
knowns
and shiny
shelter

flung it back
slow motion
like a run down
exotica zine

https://docs.google.com/file/d/0B1CDwQMLJs6QM1pvc1p1Uk5Ha1k/edit?usp=do…

In Autumn dreams
Whistling wind chords sing
And leaves whirl wildly
Falling from tall oaks

Yellow, red, orange blade-like petals
Travels in the cool breeze
As I peer from my chair
On folded arm my chin rested

As winter played this wintry day
Snow flurries cover fallen leaves
Swooping down from treetops
Bluebirds footprints in the snow

The last sojourn… your journey

Beautiful, bountiful, beleaguered princesses,
tortured and tormented, exhibit tolerance.
Patiently, presenting amazing fortitude.                           
Constantly forgiving horrible attitudes.

I would like so much more from you
As we reach that fork in the trail
You have to go right and me to the left
There is no point in looking back
As we travel on, before we cannot see
So leave something great of you, for me.

.
Let me think a while, what that can be.
Some of your writing, not just for me
I need a part of you that will live on
As this winters cold grips us both so hard
Then I can say, and let others read your card.
That your spoken words are what we should know.

borne crest
above the sigh
dark softness

the dew plains
the dark nostril
dare

catch me
the darkening
a tinted stare

crescent cascade
oceans
of a crush

oil me up
this jacked
up phase
creaking
in the leatherette
break in

pristine mint
is scarred
with mottled
histories

annointed
at the ankle
curvatures

shadows
capture
beneath
the light

candy rouge
spearmint
glean

Oh yes, my mother! You are an age-old ragged banner,
fluttering in the stormy winds of beastly corruption,
over the broken highways and footpaths of hopeless hope,
trodden with the spiky jackboots of nasty politics.

Yet we are the tough strings, tightly holding your upper ends,
and tying tight to withering branches of ‘conomy;
Yet we are the unbreakable pieces of heavy stone,
hanging like heavy medals from your crippling lower ends.