black mould like the rind
midnight
encircling the tub
its wanton encroachment
the gin bottle gleaming
mockery memories

leaning at the window
a fragment vision
the stars wavering
obliterated by tattered clouds

and I think how this
Dusk obsession
consumes me

you receed down hallways
your voice fainter
the chalice beauty
of your one liners
shinning

and the rain
destroys my poems
on sand berms
and dreams
like dust
in windstorms

THE HAGGIS HUNT by Ian Thomson

Close by a big fire, our host fried ham and eggs
“Is that your Ayrshire bacon?” “Naw, heatin’ ma legs!”
We ate then we left the pub for the car park
Where our guide, half-wit Hamish loomed out of the dark
With his good wife, Mad Morag - no beauty (in truth
Some called her Juanita - she’d only one tooth).

Assault with intent
To kill this mind
Ransacked memories
Obliterated dreams
Till nothing is left
But a void

Lulled into
A transient state
Then lurking
Waiting to attack

Still the voices
That cry out for help
Till there is
No conscience thought

Meaningless scraps
Are left in the dust
To be swept away
Through the canyon
That was once
A mind

As I take my final steps
before I rest in peace
I reflect on our lives
and what you meant to me

Through my cloudy cataract
I clearly see you
holding my wrinkled hand
My handsome old man

Through my faulty ears
I can hear you say
“You still look as beautiful
with your lovely grey”

My trembling fingers
won’t let me write much more
But my toothless smile
wants you to know for sure

i gather my sticks and stones
beat around the bush
facing East, then West
bow three times

scrape my knees on the doorstep of persuasion
the attic filled with cobwebbed intrusions of domesticity
but nothing seems out of place,
my basement leaks with water under the foundation
and the walls shout with time cracking through the lifted iris
you purr like a selfish house cat, smug and twitching his whiskers
with pensive appetite,

I didn't know I was waiting.
With no idea I was looking for anything
I quietly put my heart away
not missing it or its needs.
I closed the door happily.
Life continued pleasently for me.
Satisfied and content
I did not see these as lies.
The day I let you in I was
swept away.
On a wild tide of swirling
illogical emotions;
I was dragged from the saftey of shore.
Cast adrift in a turbulent storm
of pent up desires

and they all ask me
how was the vacation
start by listening and end
by walking away disinterested
envy never hears much but
i survey the old room
take in the peeled paint
the new lights and old faces
brightness makes them ashen
dulled of life
full of vicissitudes
i finally am not like them
i am grateful i know this for
the last man who spoke to me
said

you are not like anyone i've met

lonesome tough
low
gritty growls
laconic as a bad ass movie star
arrogant

slinky

women stare
all over him
he's got it down
cold
a one man rat pack
on the make
'til the call of the road
takes over his soul

something he often regrets
but the lonesome tough
don't do duets

A sparrow lands
upon a sycamore branch
with fluttering of wings

The tree moves
with the slightest
unseen effort

sparrow jets away
returning landing
on another branch

The leaves follow
the progression of light
with ease

The universe has choreographed
The two contrasting movements
Into a dance

am I the attentive audience?

Five miles down a switch back gravel road
running along a Blue Ridge mountain back
hemlocks,laurels and white oak trees
provide shade for Oconee bells and ferns

Down below, a muted murmur
of a small river not too far
as crickets tell the temperature
and ruffed grouse dully drum

Dim path descends as in a cave
of gray stalactites and emerald ceiling
with soft mossy carpet
a silent passage