Stan the scribbler
is always a dribbler,
he reads some of mine
whenever...
but neither is he on my fan list
nor am on his
after all with bosses
one can’t be
too pally

Ian, comes next
after his heavenly rest,
He is my very best
for I’m a bard for him,
I thought small bard
Shakespeare!
till he clarified,
no, one who sells
what ever one tells…

down we walk
the afternoon block
The howl of the moon
crisp like a welcome
dime
behind the tired roof lines
she shines

Thirst you say
initiates
travel

Into the shade
The coveted cafe
chrome formica
and couchs for
slouching
how you shine
in this cavern
room

while outside the
small street slips
cars full of gleam

the coffee house scene

.
sometimes I find, to my amusement, thinking of the past
brings, with nostalgia, sagacity
so preached to me from when I stood (and sometimes quite aghast)
while eyeballing the top of my dad's knee

such things as those he told me from the time I was a kid -
to always choose the right tool for the job
and learn to change my own flat tyres, steer into the skid
behind the wheel be neither snob nor slob

~

Underneath my dream, idea tree
with full access to my library
where the moments only count if your breath's away;

tread soft through the canopy's veil
it's anyone's guess, in this odd tale;
are they at work? At rest? Or will they play?

~

So quick! Am I to sanitize
each moment bold, I categorize;
so I know when one does end, and the next shall start;

breathe each one in, or turn to stone
after all they're yours, alone
you gave her "life", very deep, inside your heart!

Sometimes, at times
there's a feeling
at the bottom most pit
in ones form
why do we compose?
and
expect others to repose,
faith in what one does say,
poetry is just a manner to display,
the nuances of the innermost
depths of one's own conflict,
why upon others our misery
do we have to inflict?

BARREN NIGHTS

The night came upon me
barren
no nurturing light
no warmth in its darkness
stars veiled in black embrace
meaningless to its own existence.
mirrored reflection....

they crowd to mock
the crying drama
the soul shock

they want to rock
the stone of words
shatter hearts
and stifle souls

the life that leaves
pressed out with
words

sticks and stones
break more then
bones

I wearily rise to my feet
as setting sun and tree line meet
For I've been hunting winter's meat
in this instance a futile feat
alternate 1st stanza
I wearily rise to my feet
then suddenly I take a pause
as bobcat stalks on silent paws
for him an ordinary feat

Crackling joints shout their pain
complaining of abuse and age
cackling turkeys rise to their roost
remaining barely out of sight

Midnight Flight

through passageways
with turnings hidden
candle's flame flickers
to breeze unbidden
in near distance
as a low wind rushes
gasping of the glimmer
my running footsteps
speed headlong
into a darkness
deeper than the blackest night
consumed by the terror of my flight
evil presence behind
driving me with persistence
so great my failing resistance
falters guttering out
without a god to beg granting grace
I am lost to this malicious intent

I didn't want to let him go. After all, he was only five.
‘Come on Mum,’ says Senior Seven, ‘I'll guard him with my life.’
I studied them standing tall and straight. They looked so big and grown.
I felt a strong nostalgic wave. Where had my little ones gone?