To be poor is to go back in time
I have eaten dandelions out of the backyard
And contemplated the guillotine
The revolution of a coin
Skittering to a stop.

The moon rose over troubled water.

Waves swelled on the rocks,
And the cliff crags sat there in the dark;
Brooding creatures thinking unquiet thoughts.

A seal barked,
As usual in the twilight time when fish come to surface,
And the last waking eagle went to nest.

Calm sleep day
Urban brick
Birdsong, windy leaves

Inexplicable bagpipes

Lift soul brave
Raw harsh demand
Rise, rise and stand
This is life and beauty

Silence
Wind
Leaves

Motorbike engine roar

I don't want to be a knight in shining armour.
There's dignity in scars and old leather,
The badges of a long campaign.
We are wrinkled, yes, and sunburned,
Full of crows-feet and lines.
These are trophies, my friend.
Wear them with pride.
Our grey hairs emerged in our twenties.
Why? Because we fought!
We still fight the good fight.
Walk tall with your notches and your rust!
This grey is the grey of battle-steel,
The burnish of a well-used blade.
Your life is a tale worth telling, my friend.
Please, do not think you're not beautiful.

Fear confining you
Bound to your bed
Solace; murmur whisper secrets
Until the sun shines unhindered
All the world cries out comfort
In the flight of bird-wing wishes