Daffodils bursting butter yellow
From a warming poltice
Of last years leaves

A cross cut lawn
In ancient tartan
Kelley and lincoln green

Forsythia
A sunburst
Igniting the split rail fence

A lady rain mists
A gossamer veil

My spade rests
Patiently
Against the dormant locust

I could not fit
inside the mould

so I fell down

where
only the blind could see me
only the deaf could hear me
the mute were happy to say my name

It mattered aught to them

that
my round was square
my front was back
my right was left
my quiet was loud
my up was down
my insides were out

together
we all coloured outside the lines

the magician
inticing those who dare
enter the tent
enter the life
prefomance
being everyone and anyone all at once
acquiring attention, a manipulation
graciously given
dollars
time
trust
in hopes of entertainment, some fulfillment
it’s an illusion
smoke and mirrors
fake things appearing real
the lies and tricks are self comforting
the horrors here are real
vivid
dark
unrelenting nightmares
the frightened patrons hide their eyes
many run from the horror truth

jussa a moment pleeze!

moment and time
are the same things..
what you want to say
as Shakespeare did,
time and tide wait for no man...

everything in life is opportunity,
if a gal swipes her lips
she wants a kiss,
which if not taken you miss..?

if she wants you to say
I love you
and you don't hear
it’s up to you,
you lost her my dear...

Bright, bright the day,
it isn't may,
no heavy cloud,
no wind,
no sudden sight of gusts
that yesterday 
asked leaves up to dance;
wind still,
it silently came in at dawn, 
in pale attire,
and filled the scene with melancholy light,
with here and there a splash of brightened woods, 
as sunlight permeated through the view,
that well known smooth horizon, 
across the window's wide,
that reached into the mind,
as peace perceived and satisfied. 

Irony
insists on
these two things:

your tongue taming
the yellow.

I forget
what
the other is.

USELESS ENDEAVORS

Do you miss my poetry
did my words tell you more
than what you read
didn't you see
yourself in me.

I am the particular to the universal
a microcosm of the human spirit
a magnificent perfection of imperfection.
I showed you a soul.
Did you see it.

I showed you my gypsy heart
my longings,
my melancholy.
Did you feel it

Do you miss my poetry
or do my words die
in the saying
do my thoughts languish
in their caress............

Surfaces smoothly reflect,
unearthed in this time of lights.
Small and large pieces of paper
litter like letters from a gone war.

Children run in Caribbean colours,
women in stretched black.
The tinnitus city drums softly.
Map arteries weave and congest.

Aquarium nights
dream greetings.
The past arrives all broken
and listing towards the right.