Sweet and savory tides
Fill the self-perpetuating void
Spinning spokes of inspiration
Distillate of jungle and earth

Love silent, falls
it touches soft, invisibly floats
unseen by the scope of eyes
comes brushing by, or comes in a down pouring,
wet washing the soul, unwavering, wordless it unfolds
travels most rugged terrain, smooths the way
there is no season for its efflorescence
it sits, a silent bud, any moment to flower
always we know it's fragrance
it is the way, the path
a flitting, ethereal flower
one, that we can never grasp

It was always from the same breath
you were called both ***** and hen.
The cue from on the hoof words jarring.
They wanted to curtail your pride
to wrestle ambition,
chide even your Soliloquy.

By the soak of the covert
all she wanted to was wash
the dust from her feet,
proceeding to use a pumice
she recognised the endless toil.

Submitting to the widening  silence,
her cochlea impressed -
the whisper of what it was to hear a stream,  
the disciple's quest - now her inner strength :
wading courage, sharpened focus
the weathered course, she longed to know.
Tally Crane ,Oak and bream
the amble of time proceeded
mindful her shawl swept
towards a larger cycle .

A singular time in Greenwich Park
Walking amidst the tourists and lovers
Nervous and indifferent at the same time
You surprised me with your truth
And  eyes that seemed to yearn for me to love you back

With a hand on your back
Teasing
You turned
And in a summer breeze
Sealed my soul with lips
That felt like coming home and leaving

Leaving you felt wrong
And coming home I sat with a new sensation
Normality
For perhaps the first time
It was good to be in my skin
Skin you had caressed
And I had let you.

The ink smothers papers in unforgiving battles of writers.

Where fame outweighs the need for imagery, the structures aimed to be masterpieces, broken into master pieces.

The imagery lost with the message as words wonder about in disorganized sequences.

The meaning becomes opaque, as perspiration drowns the paper,panicing impatiently your words are flooded in pools of poems, so they fade and drift away, without any views or likes only dismay is displayed.

How like a fever this red sky burns of fire
impossible sun, hot orange ember
never to grasp, melts so quick the day
a fire extinguished, vanishes into night
black sea of coal, this place
colorless my sight
sinks slight, my heart with sorrow
drifts ever in night's darkness
ever into the unknowns
of tomorrow