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.

The words lay down their lives, poetry is the temple.  

No faces required, no images desired...

From black and white the colors emerge.

Struck a match.  Watched it burn. The scratch of sulphur intrigued my ears.  The burst of flame dazzled my eyes.

Struck a match.  Once again I watched.  The perfect strike?

Exhausted all the flames.  Searched for more.  My young eyes inspired.

To the woods. A new matchbox.  Pyramids of sticks. Struck a match. Watched it burn.

Still inspired by the fire.

Everyday is a rewrite, the opportunity to redraft the first verse.  My purple high-tops strike the sidewalk as I converse in morse code.

Regrets?

Just a few thoughts can lead us astray.  

Today I'm the poem walking upon a blank slate, re-painting the canvas within...

A Mediterranean heat warms my back. 

Her laughter still echoes, another reminder of those sun-drenched days.

Mountain tops, snow covered...

A mountain-biker with the funky frame, the picnic bench, the poems.

Walking, wandering, contemplating the first draft.

March 21st 2017 -

Early to rise... breakfast served.  We face one another.  Hazel eyes meeting blue.  Idle chit-chat accompanies the Nescafe. The morning post sits unopened. Tomorrow everything will change. But for now we remain innocent.

A small candle flickers as darkness descends.  Her photograph hangs upon the wall.  Faded by time yet the memory stays strong.  The days linger.  Together we await the future, but not in awe. Watching the hands on the clock has become a full-time occupation.  Time is elastic, every minute longer.  Shadows of a former life flicker on the walls.  The flame is fading, darkness is descending.

Honor the sword,
one cut separates
all.

The wind chill is
frozen blue like
paint.

Red is the blood
pulsing as I wait.

Deep in the fox hole, orange explosions.
A friend in god, we pray and hope.

Enemy within us be free.

We were fighting for survival.

Field hospital. Infection cured;
maggots eat dead flesh.

Deep in the moment:
 
Explosions, gunfire, and screams.

Together in a tigers' tooth, we wish
to transcend our fears.

20yrs, 5 free.

Nokia keypad.
Isolation free.
A smart user ?

Freaked out by early morning alarm calls.  This life we create - symbols on monopoly boards, roll the dice, wait ya turn, play your part.

Sleek lines curve around the mind, stimulating the imagination.  Here and now she faces me, but who is the mirror?

Tumeric stains on fingertips, reminders of the culinary fun.  A half empty glass of Bordeaux upon the monopoly board: oh yeah, another loss.

Ruby-red shoes seek a home. 
A silver spoon is bent in two.

Johnny Cash plays as the record spins.

Some you lose,
some you win!

Lost in the moon,
I hide my intent.

Those curves of hers are stranger than her words:

"Tonight, my dear, we shall discover a multitude of broken hearts"

"Oh how delightful"

With a flickering candle we begin to explore.

The rain rattled
upon the rusted
wheelbarrow.

Her old skipping rope begins to spin.  Lyrics taste sweet, soaking up youth, dancing with imagination, agile once again, she is the grass that sways.

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.

Green-eyed wanderings.  Taken by surprise as the rain soaks us to the bone.  We sit surrounded by foxgloves and nettles.  A collection of magic and green medicine, her knowledge of folklore soothes.

The fallen oak offers shelter.  We strike a match, the fire warms.  Huddled together once more.  Another moment to share.  Outside the crows caw.  Flames flicker, smoke rises.  Our clothes begin to dry.

Blue sky breaks through the clouds.  Like the sun we rise.  The homeward path is long.

Ring tones from telephones,
& shattered dreams.

Wisps of smoke and wavy
lines of radiating heat.

Slapped these words like paint on canvas.  Where syntax makes nonsense.  Grabbed in a rorschach hologram.

A whistle blows, time stops, doors slam, stories end.

In long grass
we hear

whispers of
the winds

a rain cloud
is near

wishing for a
rainbow.

Yellow blossom, snows fall.
Startled eyes, a rabbit runs.

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!

Lovers entwined, like venomous snakes poised to strike.  

The fascination draws them in, the magnetism enthralls.  Her blue eyes, his laughter... together they are separate in their dreams of becoming one.

A lost gem he seeks,
she watches as the
flowers bloom.

The brown brogues shine once again, his suit expertly pressed, aftershave's applied... Steven is no longer just a Friday man; his time has arrived.

Old memories are tossed aside as the color of life reappears.

Passion strikes like Cupids arrow.... tomorrow is forgotten, yet their future is crystal clear.

White like a canvas, she conceales the image within.  Colors impregnate her thoughts, and a simple melody is her guide.

Soon the rusted leaves of autumn would be hers.  Soon she would remember the blueberries, and the hazelnut tree.

Golden seeds fell like raindrops
.  She smiled as the second hand ticked.

A die is thrown and
she wishes for a six.

A blue ball bounces into view.

She watches a young girl run, her rubber boots splash in iridescent puddles.

Reminders of adventures past.

Kaftan drifts as the dervish whirls.  Footsteps heavily influenced to a standstill.  Hands rubbed together, slowly sticking palm to palm.  To sleep is a prayer offered in hope.  The dream is blank state rarely achieved.  Eyes all drained of color, limbs so tired. The mind keeps on spinning, thought after thought racing for attention.  The clock strikes again.  One thirty am... once more sleep escapes.

Tonight I will sleep with the black cat - tonight I will dream of the Jinx.  Tonight I will dance with the mad ones.  Tonight I will relish all that I see.

To be jinxed is a sprinkle of gold-dust, to be jinxed is a blessing disguised.

Pebble skims
across a lake:
mine's a boat.

It's hard to rest.  Rain is pouring.  No sunshine. Mind is swarming.  

We used to clasp hands.  Philosophical fingers. Long and lean. Exclamation marks. Bluest eyes you'd ever seen.

Today it rains. I watch it zip down the glass. Pouring drinks at a bar.  The neon sign becomes her gaze.  Lipstick smudges the rim.  Russian ***** encore.  Wild Horses couldn't drag me away.

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

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 tobacco stained ground shimmers in the heat. Dusty boots stand alone, solitary monuments to past journeys.  His old rope lies untouched like a coiled snake... yet the memories remain.

Water drips. A phone rings.  The baby has arrived.  Tomo calls.  Grab a taxi. The visit is on. Yellow toys bobbing.  Well that's the aim.  Fingers are crossed.  Get your money ready.  It's cold outside. The rain is here.

Teardrops spill their ink as my pen keeps the score.  Dropped into prayer, I'm calling for a lifeline.

Hands turn. Earth spins. Ants march. Snakeskin.  

Green leaves. Orange glow. Paint-splash. Legs bow.

A single marble rolls.

To become the arrow in flight,
I must first take aim.

Silvers spins on an oak table.  
Steven hums Mozart melodies.

"Music is good for the health"

The gamble is taken.
Every coin; two sides.

Today the poor rejoice for
tomorrow the rich will lose.

Silver coins are lost.  Clattering to the sidewalk.  Empty pockets like empty houses.  Homeless in their hearts.

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

Into the wind where her voice rides, the sound of my heartbeat lost.

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

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

Gaunt and slack, a reject for the trash.  His smile faked, his sad eyes weep.  Forty years of passion fading out.  No purpose in his life, hear his actions speak:

"I'm invisible and long forgotten, no use crying, my time has come"

Drifting on the breeze, teardrops fall.

Into the skies I glide, a blue dream begins, years regress, I surf through time.

The garden so green, together we spin, dizziness is our altered state.

Old faces return:

"Hey Grandma, I've picked some mint just for you... don't forget the rosemary, you'll enjoy that too"

Old sounds play:

"Yesterday all my troubles seemed so far away"

Together we spin, twisting the trance, returning to another time.

In the sky we fly, drifting and dreaming of her deep blue eyes.

Along the beach, the sands of time are clear.  Footprints leads me astray.  Driftwood captures my attention.  An emerald green bottle is taken by the ocean flow.  I stop and stare, enthralled.

Messages float upon the waves. Torn at the edges, those yellowed pages, contained within, drifting with secrets.

Monday morning
haunts my heart.

Your words linger
like stale air

Lost in translation
we're torn apart.

The page is yellowed
and torn.

Tomorrow we'll dream
like ripples on a pond.

Watching the butterfly
as she beats her wings.

When the curtains are
closed,

your shadow becomes
the setting sun.