I look ahead, what do I see?
stragglers on the path
of my parents' generation
as they top that distant hill.

The same hill which just
came into view
as the boomer mob approaches it
on the well worn twisting route
which remembers each step
each divide and stride.

And now I, a straggling boomer
turn to look behind
and to my surprise I see
sons and daughters looking at me
just as I looked at those ahead
just as all have looked
and always will

in the midst of morning mist
when shrubs, their petalled branches,
usher towards the sky
and trampled grass, though muted,
utterly refuse to die
where trees, in their devoir,
shadows cast that lull
and heaven, through woolly clouds,
the sun allows to shine,
i sense the heave of tired tides
invade the slumber of the day
till wearily the cumbered mass
retire to the borders of the sway
where wings inexhaustibly wave
at wooded lands and plains,
an eagle majestically climbs
the afternoon to prey

I greet her. She nods, Slowly, Imperiously.
Familiar, yet restrained.
I know her moods as she does mine.
She inclines to my touch.. softly...
We sense the change that is each other.
She is constant, always welcoming,
But with a newness, a freshness, that makes me smile.

purient
cascade

fusilade
hush

candle ice
to be pushed
upon great rocks

whispering their
prayers of winters
death

alms drip by drip
the glisten
the birds aloft
white sketched
in vivid atrocities
wheel

listen

this wounded world
lit about the forty watt
revelations

cold coffee and two
hundred channels
Diazepam tremor dreams

bygone echoes
keys moving rhythmically
saturating kitchen walls

odd globe secreting a stingy glow
while black ribbon smears worn ideas

your locution impeccable
assuaging a thirst conceived by barren heritage

each numinous page
moulded my threadbare soliloquy

now across a pale light screen
orations still exchange

though each birth now sterile
soundless

it still grafts new shoots
but weaker
than the underwood

half our lives we waste
looking what to do
what to eat
and ask others too…

whereas we must realize
we all are individual entities,
what suits us best
we ought to eat,
what suits us most
we ought to wear,
what we must love to say
we ought to speak...
what we must listen
is all that pleases me

think not that the other one is wiser
it may suit him or her
what you are only you know
don’t depending on others
nor your ignorance show,

Great bloom of love,
like the flush of colour
that blushes mountains in the evening light,
its sudden burst of realisation
entertained in silken robes of red and pink,
as the sun sinks ever deeper into the horizon's brink,
eclipses the senses,
darkens the must of scented breath,
all panting like the fangs of fox and badger,
tongues hanging out, night 's animals
that burrow far beneath the ground, in mounds
that, Venus-like, resound with pants and gasps,
as flowers push up through the loam to light,

Let us raise a little glass
and blow on little trumpets.
Let us toast, dear friend of mine
while the minutes march ahead.

Time is swift and time is soothing,
but memory disturbs the dream of living.
Dark the shadows, long the raincoats,
the pitter-patter of the raindrops
oft reminds and often hinders
one from going about their daily duties.

Still let us raise a little glass
and blow on little trumpets.
Fairies make me glad by day
and singing elves by night.

bear me oh wind
your fissured realm
show shivers in the dream mirrors

and your cauldron of tears
the river lanes of rains call
and I feel them fall

dancing in the dark
and leeching through
the cracks and dust
sweet errant memory
swept free
the sheltered craft
for a journey to take

awake thee spirit
and flesh
for I have slept
while the towers leaned
pressed with the pursuant
winds

the streamer quest

young chemical voodoo eyes
sedated from fates
torn from swollen infected wombs

quixotic wards of indifference

nettle the Mercedes peace

gaunt parody’s of scholastic dreams
huddle together in their purgative sanctum

a scourge upon the chaste

untouchables

puberties barely blossomed
guidance shrewdly abandoned

derision their loft
from which they may exonerate the
ignorant

bestowing
their unbathed sweat

Baptizing the odium