Transparent seconds tick away,
mumbling their progression.
Filtered cigarettes and coffee,
both staining fingertips.
Enough time has passed,
yet still sober thought
circulates in such a way
that I do not feel the blades
of the fan in the room.
A facade has been erected.
A sort of wall, a kind of defence.
Pretending that limitless
possibilities are open for me.
Privacy I once cherished
is a memory no longer
active in the daily reactionary
tones of being in this prison.
In and out, and out and in,
the professional experts
affirm and stipulate the
terms of my existence.
Prodding, touching, measuring.
Advising, compelling, warning.
Their repetitious bleating
draining the spirit.
I glance with longing
at the passageway of doors,
knowing that all but one
is locked and firmly sealed.
Hope. Yes, have hope.
Be the glass half full,
but acknowledge that
is is also half empty.
Somewhere in between
the two points of view
lies my truth.

And so, again,
       the morning
        erupts
         upon a lingering realism.

Blankets wrapped securely
around my thinning body.
Here in this bedroom, this sanctuary.
This refuge from cold winds
that soothe me as I hide.

Yes, the window
       is slightly open
        to let in
         a bit of fresh air.

At last
these considerations
of what must be
in the days ahead
focuses me on the
certainty of my essence.

Even so, I am
comforted by the
open window and
the bedroom that
removes me
from self-absorption.

He steps outside his house: does
not scream his defiance: therefore
not the portrait his long legs suggest.
Speaking mumbles to lawn ornaments
who see him only with painted eyes.
Ears forever closed: he does not
understand the silence. He prowls
in steps of measured distance:
waiting for the rain to tumble.

When it comes, it comes in trembles
of resistance. He understands he
must never get wet: must continue
to dry his towel under the dew of
morning. He paces the sidewalks
opening his ears to the fruit of
flapping leaves. In minutes he will
glow with the safety of ceasing to
exist: time transforming his created
distances. There are always static
murmurs which tingle his shallow skin.

Calm down restless man, calm down.
Nothing worried will ever change.
What is will be. What happens happens.
Restless flutters of fallen insecurities
must be silenced to be forgotten.
So forget everything.

Endless streams of consciousness
flows heavily with the neglect
of being free. Freedom only
comes when the thinking is
stopped. Don't think. Just be.

When I am not travelling through
the poetry, I toss sounds inside my head.
Metaphors drip from the unconscious
like ice cream melting in a bowl.
I know I am as strong as my
strength allows me to be.

These times of putting myself
into lines upon a page, these are
what defines me. So let the
jumping end. Sit down. Rest.
Put no foot upon the floor.

Bruised and analysed, stopped
in my tracks by what attacks.
Discontented thoughts be silent.
Be nothing. Be over.

Fish swim in the sea, I've heard.
Ice forms in the winter time.
Clouds cover all of the earth,
and
every day is a blessing.

Opening eyes is the first battle.
If won, it's a victory indeed!
We only have
this one moment,
and
that is really
enough for anyone.

I touch the dirt,
the dirt refreshes me.
Realizing that it
is a
good world
most of the time.

Fingers snap as I
walk casually in the light.
Enjoying the calm
that comes
from
being.

If I stand on my head,
view my surroundings
with a different
awareness; I'll swallow
the air as it
circulates
around me.

Yes, there are problems.
Bad health and nasty thoughts.
Dank walls sweating
with the turmoil
they've contained.

But these are just
flashes of discontent.
Emblems of survival
that are
only as
strong as I make them.

Best to look for
things that make me glad.
Growing like a
piece of grass
surrounded
by a world
of colour.

Life has nothing to show more fair;
Than soul who creates fantasy inside.
Oh tortured heart how it does cringe
At words flung easily at mind so bare.

This mouth now will say nothing more,
Of rumpled sheets left soiled and torn.
Of slipping hope so quickly dashed;
Gripping pain left tossed upon a floor.

Glitter diamonds are the lights seen,
The hopeless path of worshipped sun.
Oh merciful knife come slice the heart,
Let blood flow where love has been.

Dear Lord, do you know this pain?
Have you seen black as I have seen?
Wasted words upon an uncaring eye,
Who only wishes the end to remain.

The river of life ebbs slowly past;
The ever dropping sound of pain.
Oh sweet glistening ending thoughts,
That open avenues that never last.

I cry out in frustrated angered words,
But little sense is made of dusted heart,
Whose images cascade into despair.
Oh silent cries that are never heard.

Release me from the vibrant rolling hills,
Let nothing steep stop us from falling.
Sleeping passion that has gone unknown,
In hearts defeated, yet hurting still.

Lights shine fiercely over me.
I wonder what causes them to be?
Is it God revealing His presence?
Or
the
end
of
being?
There are a thousand things
left to do and more to say.
A world that compels me
to
be
involved.
Pretending to be fairly open,
even while the jumble of
images are never-ending.
Places seen and others'
just imagined. When the
trains stop running, well
so
shall
I
stop
as
well.
God above, educate my
thoughts to how they
should be thinking.
Let the dying flowers
bloom
once
again.
Bursting colours that
frolic playfully across
the meadows of denial.
And
I
catch
the
light
as
it
fades
to
empty.
.