the secret of heather
spills into daylight
there are nubile spirits
roaming Elysian fields
we will rest here
amoung the tender leaves
of passion,
we will ignite the flame
within
and show each other
the light
we will die a little every day,
until the scent absorbs us.

the fresh cut grass has stories to
tell. everything is holy, everything
is flame and water
we write into poems..

Eyes blaze in deep within the murk
fangs dripping in inhumanity,
immortal companions veiled in depravity,
draped in profanity.

Stalking their prey
with cat like precision,
sensuous seduction ,
playing with their food.

Terror stricken hearts give way
pierced jugular,
drained of dignity.
Human husks left by the way side.
victims of blood lust.

Some eyes grow dim with age
And so with what they perceive
Analyze carefully what you see
Deception lurks around with illusion

The nose is nuptial to smell
Polygamous in types and kinds
Nasal hairs filter, smell selected
Confused with taste at times

The tongue takes a lick with a tang
Between the bitter and the sweet
A taste measured by its worth
Safety sew up, in time of need

across a bridge of signs
peace rolls in with the thunder
zigzag lightning traces across your face,
illumines my memory
I can see you smile
with the ache of those who are dead
but do not sleep

I reach out for you, you
evaporate into a thought
I have miles
and you have eternal rest
but do not sleep.

the picture in the frame
stays the same
and sometimes we touch
that which is fleeting
like wild geese of Autumn

we leave no trace in the sky
our shadows gliding over earth.

When I passed my exams
To go for higher studies
Shortly after dad died
My mother asked me
Where I would get the money
My answer was simple
Like the bird, it sows not
And reaps not, but feeds

Once, I was told
How hard it is to tell
The suffering of the past
When success comes
And how you don’t tell
The tale of the rain to fire
Time heals, but the scar remains
The story of suffering slipped away

I hear a train whistle blowing about a half mile away,
Under the covers is where I will stay.
The devil is riding the ghost train picking up lost souls,
taking them to hell amongst the heated coals.
Every living person must hide and keep still,
Away from glass doors away from the window sill.
A dark and scary night is upon me tonight,
A cold chill fills the air and so does fright.
October 31 on all hallows eve,
I wish so badly I could just leave.
That old black ghost train gives an eerie sound,

Killer

Sometimes I like to take time out of my busy life
to remember,
The Woman in the Grass.

She sits in a paddock.
The grass has long turned brown.
Her long hair mingles with the foliage.
Dark waves cascading down.

She peers up at the heavens.
Mottled by many a dark cloud.
Her storm-grey eyes like daggers.
O! What mysteries they shroud.

She gasps as it begins to rain.
Acidic tears pouring down.
She falls asleep as all her pain,
Seeps into the ground.

here by the phone
to hear you
across the waves
the static hisses
like team
like atmospheres seperate

we are islands

lonely in love
falling like wishs
stars diving
in the night

sweet pearl
how I haunt you

Right about now I remember my Mother,
she must have said:
"There is no self-righteous God in his kingdom heaven and hell is
a sure-fire declaration of the absurdity that is perpetual life,
right here
in its living." at least a thousand times before
she went through the corridor of
never more, (I still see crows and swallows,
circle dancing in the sky
butterflies land on my shoulder and the scent
of lilacs and roses permeate winter's white
when I think of her.)