the sunsets each day
be far or nearby
can't say
but tis always rising some way
like-wise poets read…
but to comment
shy away

not many like a pair
for so long do stay
as we two safely
with words only play

it needs courage by the way
on every pedestal
you can't place a statue
like one of you
anda bard combined
can you…..

Many friends gathered at a stream
They nodded as their silent rows grew
As if the banks were going to burst

There flowing outward were the words
Row on row likened to ocean rollers
Yet here still confined to a mere stream

Words that caught my breath in passing
Others that brought tears to the eyes
Then, those where fear gripped the soul

Where did all these words come from?
Why did they need to flow outward?
Confined for a while they cried for release

THE SLEEPING SKY 4th May 2013.

On this cloudy afternoon
rain taps upon the window pane
a light yet quite insistant tune
which washes off the pollen's stain.

In my recliner I look out
from here in this familiar room
at new green unfurled all about
and see black berries are in bloom.

So these are the between days
between winter's cold and summer's heat
between crisp skies humid haze.
Cool weather is in full retreat.

A Revolting Use For Words…..

You can’t kick the dog anymore,
he’s scoffed at your very last shoe.
The wise old Cukoos saw it coming,
off they went to seek pastures new.

A purist changes workmen’s clothes,
I guess they’ve shed that oily skin.
Weary are they of the same old oaths,
they’ve no time left for political spin.

Ballrooms are full of hobnailed dancers,
young men of war take a day off killing,
Hi, like a burl round the floor of chancres,
or are your morals transcendently unwilling.

MASK
Where are the movers and shakers
the promises of better things
Where are the friends
where did the family ties go
who are these faces new
these bullies and these takers
who are these cannibals
feasting on my soul.

You traced your name upon my face

faded skin
redden eye
carrying the cavern’s stamp
mimicking the colliery’s faithful

the cairn
citadel of separation
light plays upon each stone
chasing dew
ignorant

as the sombre requiem
rents space between the robins call

envied soil
dark and sweet
now our tangled sheets

time
the once wondrous gift
now a cloistered cell

I trace your name upon my face

Halloween on the Isle of May

Roger the ranger was having a nap.
Fair exhausted he was, such a poor, sleepy chap,
When a rapping and slapping woke him in mid-snore;
He'd been woken up - by an Auk at the door!

Roger knew that no bonfire was lit on May Isle.
Halloween was ignored by the students, no piles
Of wet, slimy driftwood to form blazing heap;
Then was shocked as the puffin coughed out, "Twick or Tweet!"

We are all dead here!
Lives spun out of patterned chaos shredded
Spent in adoration of Mac Blo, Nasdaq, Exxon, Bechtel
Promises of sated lives
Broken percussion played out on now arrhythmic pulses.

A Long line of gangling skeletal bodies
Dressed in uniform gay glissando
That covers our sickly blue translucent, mottled, skim milk, hides.

Furtive over shoulder looks.
Anguished twitches in response to
Sounds of deep limitless mourning.
The final uncontrolled movements of cadavers freshly dead; .

Why do you not see?
That the words I write
Are just my poetry
Shouted from the heart
Each beat caught
Though it’s late at night

Come read and then say
That was it yesterday?
Or even today
Was it started,
On two days?
Did midnight overlay,
The theme?
Was just for you
The words so clean
A poem did I hear

I didn't care
I wrote, yet.
Did you read?
I have reached out
Now do you care?
That I was there
Standing by your side