I pay homage to the soldiers
who took charge ,when words failed
those who ordered the
execution of our youth.

I pay homage to soldiers
who are now departed,
A clear blue sky divides
the living from the dead.

Breathtaking sunsets creep
unfolding on to troubled horizons,
gaining ground.
Whilst those that are left cry,
" hear me lord, bring them home to me”.

My expulsion from the shackles I craved
gave his twisted desires room to devour
A seed your flower, truths buried within
the roots grip unaided beliefs.

Territorial pissing crossing the deep divide
the depravity of the cavity is where unanswered
Questions lie, the innocence of the cry
burning embers expelling the core.

That part of you I can't ignore
twas gripped and torn, familiar
Pattern sworn to secrecy yet
still I know can't let it go.

You’re a pseudo hero
a counterfeit lover
meagre soul undercover
the antagonist who enchants
in a mock romance.

You’re an apocryphal fool
playing the game of chance
fallacious in his charm.
delusive creature quick to abuse.
impassioned women are misused.

An imaginary Don Juan,
a bogus Casanova.
a quasi member of the human race,
you’re disgrace.

You smiled at me and melted my defences
Impure thoughts, invaded my brain
Body ached to let you in
But I was a naive miss

When you were in my bed ,
Virgin eyes devoured your
creamy caramel thighs..
Tongue sampled your liquid centre

Together we combine as two into one
Rampant urges within our loins so strong
To fulfill this longing controlling our lust
To have you now, is our obsessional must

The heavenly angels knew just what I wanted
a cherished bundle to be loved and flaunted
and when I saw you, I was filled up with love
such a perfect precious gift, sent from above

Just the sight of you brought a smile to my face
sweet dark eyes overflowing with angelic grace
not a single eyelash or brown hair out of place
too cute in your dresses made of satin and lace

love -- for you

until the sun turns dark and falls
'til the seas dry up and fade
'til stars stop twinkling
or I wear the souls of my feet off
coming for you --

'til clocks count backwards
and the lens can't see
or granite is soft as cotton
on slopes of the Rockies
no light shines --

'til all wine sours on the vine
'til I can't write another word
or hear another verse
in this skull of mine --

A tip with greens and tangerines
attach to some large thing beyond
the frame's geometry, for granted
and on blue

Mathematical? Not like the hour
I look away from what is crumpled,
and see nothing

And I assume

the garden chairs still lie about
Crickets in what I thought was
grass,- (their number troubles
me), but one

Beneath the cotton parasol