Fresh coffee steams my glasses,
for one foggy moment
the crash of life is forgotten

outside
birds peck for hidden treats
and drizzling rain promises
yet another spring

while inside
I wait
for miracles of understandings
but my canvas remains empty

the rain comforts barren thoughts
coffee soothes the taste of losing
and those birds peck my brain

where are the bells
maybe the rusted chimes will know
perhaps it's not my turn again

I'll wait

I beg indulgence in posting 1 poem in 3 forms. I will make amends by not posting tomorrow.

I watched the woods return to sleep
there in the wooded hollow deep
yet for some reason I still stayed
at my post next to a grown up glade.

All save the stars was pitch black
and the wind had become slack
due to lack of any light
Details in the world were slight.

Life was hushed, if there at all
not even insects' slightest call
alone in a dark silent place.
Was it, perhaps, a mere preface?

At nineteen you were still a child
hopping off to an aggrandised war
filled with romantic and exuberant air

At nineteen you travelled over the channel
to Mons, by the Belgian border marching
there receiving the horrors of humiliated retreat

At nineteen you went missing
first in Dublin taking leave without permission
now in France and sought for desertion

At nineteen you were a fugitive
hiding from town to town
filled with fear and personal loathing
without destination, without future

Extends the day..….

Hear them chirp the birds
have fair, it’s new shoot’s time
for growing. We have tabled
our bread wealth for all,
once again listen....

Happy sounds from the voice
of beings matching bird when
best is sung, bands of people
chattering lightly dog content
at fireplace swelled, ran home
to cached places friendly
wagging tail knocked against
open doors, once closed against
winter winds with chill
of bone to marrow.

Skeletal fingers,
reach towards the sky,
covered with bark,
rotted and dry.

A hint of woodsmoke,
hangs in the air,
strewn across leaves,
a womans blank stare.

With eyes glossed over,
turned milky white,
this once beautiful spirit,
approaches the light.

Skin turned blue,
her form twisted,
body half eaten,
her limbs become rigid.

Her fingernails pulled,
her teeth shattered,
nose has been broken,
this girl was slaughtered.

Slowly circling on warm air
eagle eyed searching for a prey
looking down to earth
hoping it will find a stray

on a dense hillside
hidden in a high tree top
a little valiant bird cries
"pitirre, pitirre (pe-tea-rra)

"fly away or you must die"

The majestic eagle of the sky
pays the little bird no mind
even though the warning,
it continuously cries

Suddenly, with a flapping of wings
and a rustling of tree limbs
the little valiant bird flies
like a rocket towards the sky

As Sir Gee rides through the rain slicked alley
He considers the truth of man
There are knights on big white horses
And then there are Killer fans

This knight has won many battles
His armour is dented and worn
The sword he wields is dulled
His gentle heart is torn

The twisted twin of Sir Gee
Stone-cold killer, an empty soul
He slays the evil he finds
To fill his empty bowl

Slaying terrible dragons
Killer; is in his mind
A black knight of steel and darkness
A knight of a different kind

leave shadows idle
beyond tomorrows night sky
give me back the sun
so I may begin to feel
warmth in my bones, heart and soul

it is time to live
free upon a gentle breeze
watching flowers sway

From the Darkness

From the darkness came the light
Shining out so warm and bright
With peace and love and tenderness
And tinkling sounds of happiness.

From the darkness came the caring
All the gifts and the sharing
Came the dreams and summer showers
And the beauty of nature's flowers.

Then from the darkness came the bad
Nameless fear and all things sad
That turned the peace to hate and war
Sowing terror near and far.

you argue a case
better than mad monks
gone crazy from too many
hollow prayers
you push an envelope
a thin line
but you're already licked
by the ones you seek to dishonor
by your confession

'the unseen exists'

no choir of exultant voices
finding purpose of darkness
a deep resentment of
being less than genius
and i see it all clearly
the need for controversy
the need to be
in control