An urban lamp

the cracked pavement

Memories of fallen friends:  

Long wild hair

Frenetic limbs

Let's dance!

The winds howl  

Glass shatters

A candle burns!

A heart torn from a magazine
shaped by the fingers of desire
awaiting a new lease of life

A virus isolates
with exhaustion

A prisoner to the
motions of many

A long look into
global relations

A double-jab to
safety

Down with the lockdown.  Cross with a panoramic view.  All seeing, all knowing.  But what is there to know?  Now, and then, before and after - we remember them as they were...  history beguiles!

Raindrops splash
lightning strikes -
a giant oak appears.

Inside of these walls there are many faces on display.  A wine-glass is fractured yet remains intact.  The mirror reflects a multitude of emotions.  Daily life throws us many a vacation.

Words switch places.  Green is red-tinged envy.  The light upon the screen is dimmed.  Tiny feet are planting footsteps in the garden.

Outside of these thoughts much is happening.  Cars are racing against time to overtake their neighbours.  The wind carries a plastic bag to a new destination as the train remains stranded at the station.

Rust comes slowly.  Beside the seaside is where I lie.  Blue skies are fading.

This morning passes
as clouds come and go

I watch the washing
machine as it spins

listening to rumbles
from the sky

the table is cluttered,
with newspaper print

four legs in contact with
the kitchen floor

This face obscured
green eyes hide

clouds shift, smoke
rises

underneath autumn
leaves

reading white lines
torn at the seams

Coriander mixed alone,
a yellow-footed woman
smiles with raindrops.

A single marble rolls.

Monday morning
haunts my heart.

Your words linger
like stale air

Lost in translation
we're torn apart.

A gesture in time I still hold alone.  Dignity is a vision refocused.  Look at this.  Just one small detail on a cufflink.  This lamp shines a light.  Illumination is a walk in wonder.  Upon the sidewalk they rest.  Invisible for the most part, and then her dream began.

Blue is the lagoon
within your eyes.

Outside the trashcan falls to the ground.  Can you hear the crash?  It's a cymbal sounding.  Love is the duster which polishes your soul.

Am I one of these?

Sat in a workshop,
living within images.

Getting dizzy inside of
this spiritual life.

Blue eyes twinkle,
Yellow sun shines,  
Indigo rises.

Lost in the moon,
I hide my intent.

In the iris of the night
we search.

Light beckons us forth.

Deeply held, secrets we
find...

stars sparkle into view.

I am a mighty oak
hiding in an acorn.

Many words swirl
inside.

In motion this poet
seeks devotion.

As the winds blow
my poetry grows.

Tomorrow I dream,
slowly becoming...

New spurts shoot
forth

reaching toward the
sunlight.

Each day I rise like
the truth,

I am the poem!

The rain falls on the sidewalk. Splashing in puddles.  A face emerges.  Welcome to a new town.

Magazine Bulletin:
reclaiming space
within my mind.

Yellow sun
for you my
eyes burn.

Sure no more, indeed these days are long.  At risk with the asterik, my smile sinks.  The bulb buzzes beside my bedside, a dim light I see. Playing cards are strewn across my sheets, a black bic pen awaits accord. As the words rest, the mind sleeps, dark is the night.

My finger paints
a clear reflection.

No face but my own,
a mirror still reflects.

Underneath the red
moon, a fire still burns.

Old words recycled, as time transforms, the leaves fall, a broken mirror, reflections of nature, my blue eyes review.  Foxgloves fail to fit.  Outside of time, rolling flower into loaves, a yellow glint, the mirrored tint her sunglasses hide, water is gulped, the pupils follow teachers, a *** of ink and chalk on a board, these days are longer than before.

The land of sand beckons, a single rose appears, pointing toward the sky, red touching blue, small rays of light, sun-bleached time.

Your eyes make
ice-cream melt.

Heart beats, fears arise
Fixed in fragments, her
lips revive...

He sits alone
lost his smile.

No face today
he's disfigured.

In my mind a record spins.  Always on repeat.  Your lyrics are kaleidoscopic. Twisted images merge.  Mirror, mirror upon the wall, please awaken me before I fall.

A lone motorcycle rusts.  Wild flowers grow.  The sun burns like Picasso's.  An eagle glides.  Blue is the sky. Yellow is the afterglow.

You take aim
and paint.

On the grass I paint,

my heart bleeds for
a rainbow dream.

Kentucky funk hides
beside gaudy tones,

afterwards we read
in wellington boots,

two little wrens hop
into view.

Your voice, nothing
but a dusty anecdote.

The yellow of the sun soaks into the walls, as zebra stripes disguise.  I am a psychedelic paint-*** lost in a living room.

I am a broken window,
lit by the beam of the
moon.

Night after night I cry,
for tomorrow is the
end of time.

Gypsy-woman,
a silver-tongue
in my past lies.

Yellow is the wave,
old scissors cut - in
art circles return.

A blue-jay sings as
her rocking chair
creaks.

Three moments in a freeze-frame.  The dark sky pauses.  Light falls as the swirl of the ocean stirs your heart.  Tomorrow we long for.  Some say a time of replenishment, a time to return.  But here we sit, rocking away the blues, listening as the wild bird sings.  What can we hear when we are no longer there?

Six red petals
plucked from
the edge of
darkness.

When the son follows in the footsteps of mother nature. Another moment of emptiness to savour.  She plants her seeds, wondering not where they will grow.  Her stories ride upon the breeze.  Green is the medicine she shares.  A bright eyed child removes the fear, the shadows exposed, deeper than before, a simple shade divides.

Lime green, her soothing
words, repairing broken
hearts once more.

Yellow is a
six-pence
gleaming.

“It is no measure of health to be well adjusted to a profoundly sick society" - Jiddu Krishnamurti

Upon the table:
a green crunch.

Lulled by a sense of security I sit alone.  The dusty window obscures my view. 

Pictures hang within my mind.  Memories of faded days.  A peek into my rearview mirror.

Gemstones glitter in the barroom brawl, your chocolate-drop eyes entice.

As the emerald glass spins, as the madness of the hatter blooms, this moment captures hearts.

Youth returns. The day is young. The dance floor turns.  Jitters bug.

Glimmering alone... The moonlight offers a tinted gift for two.

Simmering on a Sunday,
anecdotal evidence on tap.

Greens merge with orange
hues, victories are served.

Detonated mystery - hiding
inside, these walls may fall.

One more deal upon this table,
wishing for a white flag.

The thread in the hand of a kind mother
Is the coat on the wanderer's back.
Before he left she stitched it close
In secret fear that he would be slow to return.
Who will say that the inch of grass in his heart
Is gratitude enough for all the sunshine of spring?