swollen days
brusque with a tear
the dampness
stilled

the ice hungry
for the lick of wind
the tip of midnights
surmise rushing

cold fronts
and slush
pressed fonts
ticket reciept
mandalas
swirling in the
slow swallow
by the grate
gaurdians

dream mistresses
in vague dresses
and delusional
tresses

the stars are sleeping
where is this
notion
pacing

raindrops startle
fingersmeared
cigarette case

I will hold on to my peace
When everything is falling apart
All my happiness has ceased
And I am hurting in my heart

I will keep my peace strong
At times when alone I am facing trials
When everyone has turned and gone
My peace will be my survival

I will let my peace guide me
In the chaos of a decaying society
Stripped of being truly free
Dictated to by economics bounty

while some
are ambitious
with dreams
to achieve,
I have mine pillowed
though I often could
hear them murmuring

"believe"

grumblers two
can't still believe
it's a metre long...
you work in depth
in knots
all know
but metre perhaps
is a bit too long ...
no!

reduce your weight...
I did too
ran a mile
then collapsed
as just as well
with the laden weight
of bag of vegetables

so why reduce weight
I say
make do
your better half will still love you
slow be it never mind
life's always been a fast grind...
never mind

Death, its grey winged whispered flight,
hovers a shroud of eerie light above the soul,
its presence shades all thoughts of days with light,
when clear skies, filled with sailing clouds of white 
made all seem
all right, 
all safe, 
all pleasing to the sight,

Now
dank, dead roses rot inside the heart, 
those flowers of red
that once took part in the arts of life, 
loves gentleness imparted; 
sensed the scent, 
the velvet softness touched by cheek and lip,
now bleeds.

REFLECTION

and through the looking glass
I crept
to see the other side of me
all spells broken

and into a darkness
I fell
like Lucifer in his hell
for what the years
had truly taken

but despair finds its hope
somewhere
and what has been
by Time forsaken
is in Time forgotten

I visit often, the Library of my Heart.
Sometimes I go to reminisce,
and at other times, I find my self

browsing through the volumes,
as I catalogue them
and replace them on the shelves.

There are so many volumes,
I’m really quite taken “aback”, at times;
Because I realize that I’ve been so liberally blessed,

with these episodes of the heart.
And on any given day,
I’m always pleasantly surprised;

whisper to me in dark places,
unshackling my mute form

revive the thousand voices,
I have sustained in a forever
unspoken and formless
so as to be forgotten,
it was in a night-scape,
the void of sound
negated speech

I break into flight,
with an oath choking
on my first cry

I drift on the hair of my nape,
as the weave of my cloth
spirals, for a moment

as gums bleed out
the rhythm in my shade, refrains

A soft almost indigo light
Pervades the garden
Casting oddly velvet shadows
From trees and plants on
The moss framed cobble stones
That meander round corners
In sweeping bends
To accommodate the ferns
And hosta

Moisture pervades and adds
the scent of composting generations
Wetting the cobbles
Dripping from leaves

Ancient trees canopy and
Old damp stone walls
Protect this oasis from the
Roaring traffic just meters away