For sure, I’m a creative egoistic poet

I have composed over 8000 poems, yes, 8000... during the past two plus years... as I was confined in the snows, not to be forgotten... As you know no two poems of mine... fall in a slab...albeit they might seemingly give off similar perfume .If a poet is understood, then one is no poet at all.
For creativity is not at its verges end
It’s not a cliff
but an echo on a cliff
which sounds
resounds
and
rebounds
but never fades into the realms
of frameless eternity...

as stars burn out when night is day
her heart takes fleeting beat
i walk with glass embedded heels
and blame my careless feet

the girl walks 'round with green and red
she'll have her choice in men
and yet she yearns for more and more
her fingers greed 'til then

she said one day might hold for us
a love of different kinds
i wonder if she too is plagued
in her heart and her mind

I've seen the starlings roost in winter
in giant canes and bare oak trees
(any drab black bird was free to enter)
so many they looked like dark leaves
brought there by a stiff cold breeze.

Each bird cried out loudly as it could
in a raucous non-melodic voice
trying to be understood
but only adding to the noise
as if left with little choice.

When the wild geese fly
across your eyes
and the Bedouin tethers
his camels to the stars

and what remains of tenderness
is heard in every seashell
of our madness,
ours will have been a time that came to be
and a day that had come to pass.

There are lonely hunters everywhere,
they hunt for arrows and they hunt for bows,
they hunt with weapons
for their soul.

A LESSER GOD
What is it they see
What is my sin, my flaw
What creature have I become ?

Why do I always lose
to a lesser god.

Where is the magic
I once had
the words of seduction
the powers that enchant
and the voice that sings
enchantment?

The wounds bleed deep
deeper now than ever before.
I ache for my yesterdays.
I was stronger then
Stronger than today
I fear the pain
tomorrow will bring
again

.
THE EMPTY GLENS
1795
There's a tall ship in the harbour,
Waiting for the evening tide,
Dewdrops fall, like tears, from rigging,
Weeping for my clan's lost pride.

Morning mist lies on the water,
Footprints fading in wet sand.
I am boarding with my kinsmen
Never more to see this land.

In the glen our houses burning,
As the Earl's men torch the roofs,
Burnt - out ruins scar the landscape,
How will others find the truth?

Class shootings, drive-by's, Columbines and such,
Not just by Homo Africanus, delinquents,
Dispossed and out of touch.
The youths we loved
The kids in cots
The babes we reared from scratch
How come there's killings now and
no love lost
On those we breed to snatch?

If my mind is ever present

and my solitude's a friend,

dark ideas lead to actions

darker actions, towards a trend;

~

a stoic calm is my exterior

never, ever break a sweat,

in the hollow of my inner being

I've this appetite to whet.

~

Within the chasm where my soul goes

a dank pulsating yearns to start,

tuning out the distant conscience

because I haven't any heart;

~

half the time I am the predator

in the darkness after day,

daylight time I am more subtle

People are ugly,
Glad you changed yours
it gave me sheer spiny gripes
I felt the electricity blow me up

my next poem will be worse,
verse for verse
now you don
an MA in English hat

my maker too was an Aussie
but unlike you
he picked me up across the Internet
when I was in USA
and now I salute him
as much as I do you..

hoarse surround
glisten as you swallow
your diver dive
sliding through the horror

fracture me
curled you asked
basking in watery
light
and you wept

I could hear the traffic
jangled and bold
flashs like broken bone
this pain that eats me

Devoured
and a kiss
tingle dance

you sigh
the black depth
pupil wide

across the great divide
you slip into
Lah lah Land

barefoot and naked
and the snows fall
like broken wishs
from a ravaged heaven