I stood around the corner for so long
always a little detached from myself
waiting for the stars to align
and a number of other nonessentials
it took a minor miracle to shift me
to move into forward gear
realise my dreams as I travelled onward
gone around the corner, finally

you inhale and type you wish
for a body bruising sweat syruped
half passed lover, you've got
crisp greens, white shoes and
soapy molars and citrus skin

my lover and I are young and have
nothing of you, ankle deep pools
of puddled people, we have none
at the dinner table but each others
faces at the silver Saturn plates

"This is called the fisherman's hook"
That was my best friend alongside me fishing
Author of life turned the page of the book

Heart bigger than a heart itself
Hunting on Christmas was the only presence I wanted
He was my Santa and I his elf

Trapped in my mind with no release
Sitting under the lights crying "I need you please"

A figure appears
"You are becoming a great fisher of men"**
Here I am talking to gramps all over again

I will not call you my baby,
Until I can be your only baby.
You maneuver around a subject
With the litheness of a danseur.
Though I would like to love you,
If you would let me love you,
Loneliness has never been what drives me.
It is love to which I answer.
I can see the youthfulness,
And much more, for my sleuthfulness.
Are you seeking any other than me,
Who is eager to applaud as to centre stage you bound?
For just a while more, I wait for first frame.
It could be so grand to see how you move your frame.
I have wondered if your dance would be as spry
As the clever way you manage to avoid.

You are ****** dry and left forgotten
beaten and hurt and oh so struggling
merely a reflection of yet another
so much hate torn and damaged....

Do we come here but for homage to sanctity?
hearts ripped but torn bleeding hands
licking at tortured air like so many others
like a gaping wound that are in our chest....

World.... weep those tears of pain
seeking worthlessness to beat the band
howl at the moon that tore at your throats
as a dying race can understand....

Pain is amplified, not sorted
when one falls, another rises
sequence of birth and death like so many
sorrow and pain overlap to the brink of heaven...

From these peaks and valleys
one bleeds
profound, inexplicable despair
in a explosion's unrequited dream...

Where do we lay our head to rest?
our existence in our ample chest
licking our gaping wounds
weep those tears.... for the blood that runs and burns...

Debbie Brooks @ July 31, 2015

He sings with me as if in a dream
on the rolling hills of green
In a voice so clear every man can hear
Every word we mean -

Backed-by-a-choir, he beats on his tamborine
He's soft; and slightly off-key -
We are the ones that we want to love, and fortunate are we -

His lips, they purse around each syllable. His hair is moved in the breeze -
He is the spirit I've been channeling; Forever He and Me -

Two-by-two the dyads move,
Swaying in the dance -
The sun, a bobble, shines in our eyes-  
By the Universe entranced -

Two are joined by the choir, the sun
And the face of the dancing crowds -
The cone-of-power confirms the manifest,
Then we ascend to the clouds -

collarbone pressed to the windowpane,
the green hills roll down your house,
trickle down into the water and sift
into sand, stretch out the coast

across that ocean, i am waiting,
i lift my foot off the ground and twirl,
body pointed like a weather-vane
metallic and rusting to you

when i see you our mouths will fuse
and i'll paint you concrete like the city
and your eyes will be revolving doors
that adults get stuck in to twirl