A picture hangs on my wall
it’s a photograph taken by me
of two little girls by the riverside
fishing there with me.

One is fishing with her home made rod
that her Grandpa made
the other with her little net
for which her pocket money paid.

They didn’t catch any fish that day
not even a tiddler or two
but they still had a happy day
and their picture taken too!

They’re grown up now Children no more
though one at home still stays
the other has gone away
to live her student days.

The doctor had said she looked tired today
the tests had shown, it wouldn’t go away
her looks might go, her living could too
how would she cope, what could she do
she was late arriving for the photo shoot
in her tight blue jeans and high heel boots
the make up artist did her thing
and soon she was ready for anything.

A slow cool midday trek
speed determined by old legs
through a forest of mixed trees
tall but hardly hoary

No hint of habitation anywhere
no crumbling chimney
abandoned well
teetering walls
or sagging fences

Until topping a small rise
where I espy with aging eyes
a sight that takes me by surprise

A silo

not a sterile Harvestore
of cold blue steel and nothing more
nor of concrete blocks banded
nor poured in place cement

His hair singes, blazing, warm: smoulders musk tongued—
swollen, clumsy, searching the cavity of gums;
hands encased in leather, sweaty grip tightens.
The electric chair whirrs.

Car stopped, head not.

I can see two trafficator lights flashing,
I can hear my own clicking,
while we wait at lights.
clicklick where is it?
flash shit, I forgot
flash fuck him
did I do that?
flash clicklick oh, fuckit
if she hadn't
flash clicklick when did they?
flash what if I can't
I suppose I should, help!

flash flash clicklick oh, I see. Isn't it lovely.

In the moment of emergence
as her wings are still drying
the butterfly weeps

The midnight moon and the swirling clouds,
the jagged rocks and nonexistent crowds.
The tall oak tree with its gnarled roots,
a smaller tree, bares many fruits.

Sample this fruit my love,
its the fruit of a god.
taste of this fruit my love,
its sweet yet its odd.

The misty mountains and an old stone tomb,
in the valley, gorgeous flowers now bloom.
A warm swift breeze travels down the hillside,
across a pond, where wild horses reside.

Our Love

Like the sun shining at day break
on mountain peaks standing tall
Under white clouds moving quietly
Amid blue skies in stormy seasons
Our love makes lonely hearts
Wish for one more chance at love

Like rivers running wider than the eyes can see
Where the sunset falls slowly into deep valleys
Under reddish heavens resilient colors
Streaking the wind driven seas
Our love makes lonely hearts
Wish for one more chance at love

Squawking crows submerging, the doom lit forest    
The sky, slate grey in its misery,
Soul keeper emerges from his unholy lair.
Sub human in his disposition,
Instilling fear and dread in humanity,

Where there once was a man
 there is now a immortal being
Twisted interpreter of pain.
Fallen angel, intimate in his distain.
Society's dross, morality dribbled  away 
Day by day.

In His Eyes...