there is water
somewhere on my right
i can hear it
the gentle patter
of what must be
a delicate fountain
hidden amongst
the foliage and flowers
of freshly bloomed lilies
or falling from a feature
at the water's edge
there is a far-distant
rumble of jet engines
undoubtedly drawing
trails of vapour
across an otherwise
unblemished blue
sounds of traffic
dulled to almost nothing
a background hum
barely noticeable
even the unfamiliar
shrieking of a siren
as it passes by
cannot overpower
the drawn-out strains of violin
the rasgueado strum of guitar
the echoed stomp and clap of dancers
performing or practicing
in front of the monument
to a public figure
of some kind
that i would likely
not recognise or be aware of
on the other side of the park
a clock tower bell
chimes the hour
two o'clock
setting a fluttering
of birds to wing
chattering on the breeze
the seemingly constant
pattern of clicking heels
and scuffed steps
along the nearby path
tell of an exhaustive
cosmopolitan life
a dog begins barking
as i open my eyes
reminding me of home

If every penny that I find, ain't
bright and shiny,

I don't mind, I smile at the motto,
and know, that's not much questioned.
And nowadays, nothing costs a penny.

I could begin right now to elucidate,
but wait,
you know, knowing,

nobody cares if the motto on the penny
is true, any more than
if anyone adjusts worth
by bright and shiny degrees,

dull pennies, purchase nothing nowadays,
and, I find the motto holds any worth one
may imagine,
after finding a we, who agree, bright
and shiny,

does not change the worth, until you know,
the worth is in the holding having something,

so shiny, as to be guaranteed uncirculated,
meaning it never bought a thing,
and now you -- see the worth
or so the ads imply,
any one may buy
an old shining penny, for five bucks.

When the sun sets, flecking clouds with diaphanous light and birds whistle daytime’s last summer psalms, we call it night.

We’re moonbathing and Sunny’s features are inlaid with glamorous silver-blue patines. We’ll reawaken soon, our time is measured in assignments, not in hours, days or even seasons.

Responsibility is a villain of our own devices. You can run from it, bolt your door against it, only to find it’s right there - in back of you - smiling like a tiger or a parent.

Unfortunately, the university isn’t a hotel. It’s more of a competition, like those survivor shows.

We’ll enjoy the moonlight, for a few, laconic moments, for it seems to possess a sweet power to cool and calm, but soon our purposes will call, irresistibly, and we’ll return to the performance.

Many a time in subtle and other ways nature tried to warn us.
Spewing fire from mountain tops flooding the land, water rising in high waves from the ***** of the ocean.
Black plague it sent now a tiny virus.
Not a lesson have we learnt not a line understood.
While building tower of babel, it is said misunderstanding was sown in our midst, to stop us from our task.
We still build tower's that touch the clouds and dig deeper than the deepest valley.
Forgetting that simple living is the best.
Want not more than your hand can hold,
a bed to sleep a roof to protect from the cold, it was ment to be thus.
Greed and false pride got us here forgetting that all we need is 6 feet of space our final resting place.

One by one the lights go off,
Slowly burning to black,
The kitchen stove, red with heat,
Stills to a cool whisper,
Before the daylight finishes,
It charms us one last time,
Oranges and plums twist into midnight,
The birds stop chirping,
Their chatter sways to silence as the moon takes its place,
Kids close their eyes,
Leaving another day’s mysteries unlocked,
Phones on top of couches quit buzzing,
Cars’ beaming headlights become fewer,
And fewer
Life becomes a flickering candle
Just blown out

It is so quiet.
I hear peanuts shells
snapping
teeth grinding
peanuts into butter
between his teeth.
The quiet page turning
Buried do deeply in
"The Scottish Prisoner"
It will be a while
Before he is hungry for dinner.
A bonus!
Turing thoughts inward
to the ever present ringing in my ears.
Long breaths in
and slower breaths out
Allowing the noise to disappear.

Do, rest, be, be, be.

In between the chords and notes,
spaces and pauses, can I find rest
for my hands long enough to get a dose
of the muse, a cosmic moment to reflect?

And when a chord is sustained
it carries me in anticipation
of what change or pain
will come, and for what duration.  

From measure to measure
I wait upon the muse
for some small treasure
to dwell, disrupt and suffuse,

interrupt the normal routine
and reveal something splendid,
an artistic moment unforeseen
a miraculous onset unintended.

Do the angels and the divine
intervene in a poet’s affairs,
create miracles in the mind
momentarily suspend daily cares?

Or are we listening to the music and muse alone
save the few who gather around
our lines for now til we’re gone
to embrace wholly ground?

I can see that your feet ache
I can see it in the wrinkles by your eyes
You’ve walked treacherous miles
Overcome a thousand storms
But you still wear the same smile
The one talked about in stories
The one that sneaks up on you
Whenever your reminiscing on your childhood
I can see your hands shake
Whenever you try to be strong
Whenever your shoulders stand tall
Like mountain peaks waiting to be climbed
But you still always laugh
One that rings in my ear
Like symphonies and harmonies
That make me feel like a maestro

I can see that you’re tired
But you still appear so alive
You never let brightness disappear from your eyes
I can see that you’re hurting
You show me how strong you are
But you’ll never end this lie
...
I can see that you’re resting
You’ve said your last goodbyes
And now you leave a legacy behind
One that flows in my blood
Whilst yours runs dry
And I hold it to my chest
With every adversity I face
I remember your stubbornness
And all I can do is smile