As you fall, so slowly fall in love with her
mind open as the floor you hit will be so much harder
it’s a long way down to the emptiness of
solitude
save me.. Catch me with your open arms
let this dooming embrace save me from love's sweet grace.
That illusion..

I love the sky in Spring, with all its beautiful hews.  
Deep pink and misty whites, and a plethora of blues.

I love the waters in Summer, the cool upon my face.
To sit and watch the water, like a dancer full of grace.

I love the trees in Autumn, and how they start to change.
Each leaf a color of its own., not one exactly the same.

I love the coldness of Winter, how you can see your breath.
But oh how quickly Spring will come again, upon Winter’s death.

What potions have I drunk of Siren tears,
Distilled from limbecks foul as hell within,
Applying fears to hopes, and hopes to fears,
Still losing when I saw my self to win!
What wretched errors hath my heart committed,
Whilst it hath thought it self so blessèd never!
How have mine eyes out of their spheres been fitted
In the distraction of this madding fever!
O, benefit of ill, now I find true
That better is, by evil still made better;
And ruined love, when it is built anew,
Grows fairer than at first, more strong, far greater.
    So I return rebuked to my content,
    And gain by ills thrice more than I have spent.

O, never say that I was false of heart,
Though absence seemed my flame to qualify.
As easy might I from my self depart
As from my soul which in thy breast doth lie.
That is my home of love; if I have ranged,
Like him that travels I return again,
Just to the time, not with the time exchanged,
So that myself bring water for my stain.
Never believe though in my nature reigned
All frailties that besiege all kinds of blood,
That it could so preposterously be stained
To leave for nothing all thy sum of good;
    For nothing this wide universe I call
    Save thou, my rose, in it thou art my all.

My mistress’ eyes are nothing like the sun;
Coral is far more red than her lips’ red;
If snow be white, why then her ******* are dun;
If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head.
I have seen roses damasked, red and white,
But no such roses see I in her cheeks,
And in some perfumes is there more delight
Than in the breath that from my mistress reeks.
I love to hear her speak, yet well I know,
That music hath a far more pleasing sound.
I grant I never saw a goddess go;
My mistress when she walks treads on the ground.
    And yet, by heaven, I think my love as rare
    As any she belied with false compare.

I've heard the moon whisper,
On several occasions -
Stories and things,
That tell what life will bring,

And what to bring to it.

At dusk, the moon laughs,
With me, in the garden-
We hold hands,
And share our secrets.

The moon tells me who,
I should cling to,
And, I, how the clinging did fare.

We kiss and run after,
The stars - though, I'm shackled to,
The earth, with too much to care,
For.

Clear and crystal
So anciently old,
So brilliantly fluid
And tastelessly cold.
To coalesce in vapour
Of limitless cloud,
To fall in fat globules
Of rainfall in shroud.

To cascade through air
As a mist in the fall
Or plummet as downpour
Through Calcutta’s pall.
Gathered in puddles
To flow down a drain,
Amass as a flood
To pour across plain.
To playfully tumble
From mountains of shard,
To flow to the sea
Where the surf crashes hard.

A field of marigolds
Bobbing in sun,
Nurtured by moisture’s
Life giving fun.
Green grasses grow
With barley and wheat,
Through the magic administered
By wetness’s feat.
Imagine disaster’s
Protracted drought
Where dryness obliterates
Green life throughout.

Sparkling clear waterfalls,
Hard pounding surf,
Trickles of crystalline
Cascades of mirth.
Rock pools so clear
That trout can be seen
And the bone china cup of tea
Served to the Queen.

Standing in rain
As it pours from the sky
With a grin on my face
Smearing mud from my eye
With arms outstretched
And a song in my heart
For the great joy of living
This water imparts....

Water my Angel,
My priceless gem.
A waterless world
Would bring death and mayhem.
An oceanless planet
As seen from the moon,
Would lack life giving blueness
And be hued in gloom.
Sweet water is life
In a miraculous way,
Thus we hail the Gods
Each rain swept day.

Marshalg
Sitting by the beautiful Manukau Harbour
11 March 2011

my fingers were beginning
to love that couch

they loved it so heavily
burrowing deep into
the cigarette burn
that scratched against
the underside
of my thigh

i could’ve been banished
to that couch -
to that moment
in time

for two forevers

and loved it thrice holy.

my eyes were beginning
to love that wall

that blue wall
with its paint racing
so anxiously for
the floor bowing
beneath your feet

the porch

the wood
underneath this
couch, with its
pancake cushions
sizzling beneath
the cool points
we were boasting of
in each other

i hadn’t known it then
but i sure know it now

the birds were singing out
my name

while i shuffled
quickly
and threw out
swiftly
the next card
to be played
in the game.

A poem falls short; I'd like, instead
to draw a single line from me to you
and watch it curl into a word
so beautiful it's still unsaid –
or press paper to the window pane
so that the day might saturate
a note that brightly warms your hands,
spills birdsong from imagined trees
and buzzes like fat bumblebees,
but I am bound by language, love; I can't.