Romanticised, phantasised, moments and actions
which reality could not hold,
yet, force of desire makes manifest.

Sleepwaking in a walking dream,
as a thousand echoed universes flow by,
each alone, yet glowing in the brilliance
of a million thoughts and feints and
flowing emotions, occupying the fragile mind
from the nothingness held within.

The scent of old books,
Tracing fingers over their ideas,
Changed by the changeless

It need not be 'and' or 'or',
There's room for both,
And so much more.

Closeted, our life grows staid,
Bound to tracks that habit laid.

We yearn for change, we yearn for 'more',
Yet trawl the paths we've walked before.

At close of day, when darkness calls,
Do we rejoice, or hold remorse?

I used to think the restless waves,
Touched the beach in sweet embrace,
Shaped its form with loving hand,
Bestowing gifts to charm its swain.

Now I see indifferent march,
Cold consumer of the land,
Loving hand replaced by teeth,
Eternal rock reduced to sand.

I used to think the restless waves,
Whispered softly to the wind,
Reaching up with frothing lips,
Imparting secrets with each kiss.

Now I see the silent words,
Shouting rage against the land,
A totem of the cold and dark,
Ever waiting for our hand.

Our world is measured in childhood grace,
Future states, as yet unfolded,
Birth the words, that claim and hold us.

Cold consumer, of the void:
Time, it strips our nous and voice,
Memories fail and slowly rust,
Our universe, it falls to dust.

Life, life, a fairy tale,
Whispered on the night,
Dreams are prone to fade away,
When silenced by the predawn light.

Stuck, still, traffic bound, sat
in silent solitude, surrounded by
my fellow man, each encased
in learnt response,
reacting to each small inflection,
never more than their reflection.

a woman walks, smile arresting,
her soul is etched, by need and hate,
contoured to her given face,
her eyes cast back, my own construction,
sat here, bound, a tired agent,
dreaming of emancipation.

the light, it changes,
breaking state, a reflection of
my inner scape. The journey
drives us past our haste,
an automaton craving grace.

words elude my breaking sight,
dream, and dreams of forms
bear might.
built and forged upon the light, now -
it fails, consumed by night.

aloof the babe at mother breast,
forged a world, upon its flesh.
lines and form, subdued in sense,
amorphous matter - cracked and rent.

are true the words, which mask seeming?
or void held gaze, and lack of dreaming?
a man, a man, in restless slumber,
context born of lust and hunger.

can we see, a world past sight?
strip away the egos might?
a star, a star, throws out its light,
grasping for
the endless night.

My world imbued with luscious curves,
Of light swept thighs, and hips that climb,
I wonder on, in daily dream, as thoughts
Of her, and her,
Are seen.

A man, a being, of (supposed) mind,
Sentient, yet always blind,
Titillation occupies,
A thousand thoughts, which
few are mine.

In stark contrast the sun it swings
Through timeless place, its light
It sings. Awe-inspired my soul does yearn
To slip the grip of her and her.

Do not

Be frightened of the 'life',
The path which leads through shadows reach -
The unfamiliar at our back,
With twining claws which grasp and reach.

To scatter back to our old home,
To settle in a mire of dreams,
And thoughts and laughs
Of memories past,
Avoidant of the unperceived.

Set forth anew, and claim the right
To live and love and
Clasp the light, to scan the morrow
With fresh eyes,
To stake a claim, to sow, to rise.

An annoyance generator is my mind,
Unjust in its creation. Lack of sleep,
Deviation, stokes the flames
And gesticulations.

My mind, pushed back
Espies the show, as
Mouth bites back the bile.
Calcified my mask does grow
Inflection states my ire.

I see the change
On targets face, as
Fury hits its mark.
Yet at my core
I query why, I
Don't reign in the fire.

Consumed with wrath,
Mind takes back seat,
Puppet slays the master,
How can I, who claims the throne
Escape from Pandemonium?

Incomprehensible rage and screaming, as
you expel all the hate you own for him,
and your current predicament, into the air.
I hold your eyes, and try to break through to your observer,
your conscious ‘I’. Try to make you see that you
can take a breath, watch the rage instead of ride it
but, you remain blind, do not see your potential,
solidify your autonomous position within
your now, self-chosen, read-only life

stained hands scar rough lines upon the dirt,
reinforcing a framework built upon a thousand lifetimes.
held within such intricate lace:
forgotten tongues and faded memories,
each lost upon the sea of lines, worn away by time.
each cut and curve defines a single moment
chronicling innumerable loves and lies,
periodically marked by falling tears
of those caught within such carving task.
importantly, such daily work
diverts each eye unto the ground,
so that each ephemeral being, squatting,
carving on the dusty plain
ignores the twisted branches and gnarled trunks,
of the darkness crouching patiently
on horizons edge.

Tear fractured world sparks, an iridescent cascade
of perfect ephemeral rainbows, each one - a part
of me, just as each is a part of this, single moment
of transcendental beauty. descriptive words
fail upon my lips, as coherent language fails
to give truth, to this frozen epiphany.
it seems there exists, in each unfolding instance,
a near infinite display of perfection, hidden
within the tumultuous sea,
that is the human story.

I watch myself
watch myself
watching their dance,
my action is actioned
by panel and plan

Significant thought
to trivial task,
I find myself missing
that which I've hatched

Impromptu I can do,
in scrutinies stare,
replayed ad infinitum
pretend I don't care

When waiting has waited
and I dare to break free,
will the watcher be waiting
or will I be free?

Deadlines besiege me, as stress pennoned limbs
ache for action, yet, procrastination consumes me.
I know relief will come, when: task complete
I can truly unbend, sit back and relax.

Yet, brain benumbed, I irradiate in a background
of autogenous anxiety. I stare through the TV,
study the grain on the page I'm not reading,
attempt to study the air.

Until, deadlines eve, when stress breaks free
staining my mouth, and eyes and senses, bitter
body, shocked, resuscitated
and frantic activity commences.

my reeling mind feels like I am doing cartwheels
which dent and fry my perspective
spinning the world, making me heave,
the load I carry can make the road ahead look bleak,
shedding these thoughts, my mind feels spent, sold.

leaning close, your watery, bloodshot eye
attempts to focus, yet fails each time.
your breath belies a day spent working,
as your sterile, whisky soaked breath
chokes my senses.
each word, you force upon my ears,
expelling the horrors of death, your death,
how one day you will not be here,
how your own father, my unknown grandfather,
declined, passed away.
but rather than fatherly advice or comforting words,
you seem intent on drawing tears.
and when finally, the tears do fall,
your befuddled state confuses
their meaning and their source.

long the gears have slowed their turn,
blunt edge blurs each mindful stare,
watchful state does not discern,
accelerated, life, it burns.

lost the gaze, the dreamers yearn,
untethered feet do not return,
lucid gaze succumbs to rust,
hazed, the mirror, collects more dust.

too late we see what we have lost,
life a dream, life is lost,
as Earth meanders on her path,
her past forgotten, her past is passed.

onwards, the darkness calls,
observers perish, darkness falls,
time itself, deconstructs,
a universe falls to dust.

each history, book bound, staid,
its furthest reaches always fade,
what hope have we, in slow decay
to leave our mark, to save this day?

i search, i look
for sublime touch,
of meaning in
the dirt and dust.
a shred, a crack,
a false perception,
scrying clues of misdirection:
more to life,
greater meaning,
imagination quelling reason.
yet, as always, in conclusion,
symmetry
it slays delusion.

rainfall paints the car park with a darker hue, giving
depth to its once flat surface, so that headlights
drill down and refract, in its now mirrored facade.

the world slowly melts, as a thousand drummers beat
against my window, falling as a single sheet towards
the sill.

dark shapes, people, walk swiftly by: faceless,
beheaded by their own umbrellas, but, it is no different
from a sunny day, when stern faces, and frosty
indisposition, takes the place of covered face.

normalcy.
the minds attempt
to squeeze
uniform meaning
from the scolding chaos
which permeates
every square inch
of this perceived reality.
corn fed geese, fattened on memes,
fools world constructed, and
happily closing the door
on the prison, built
with our own numb hands.
puppets to nothing, and
to return to nothing
is all that ever is

Is life but chance?
Is mind but brain?
The soul but shadow,
Formed hopes dream?
Or maybe more,
Man's latent gift,
Man's hopes and fears intermixed?
Is all one,
If one is all?
Does one have reason,
Purpose for all?
With realisation paid and brought,
Enlightened peace,
Comes peace with all.

To touch the infinite
With one's soul,
To fathom a universe
As yet untold

midnight hair, cascades
(is caught)
flush against alabaster skin,
blood red lips bloom with sudden ferocity
in their bed of purest white, so they stand
as stark as fire - caught within nights place.

azure pools, uncertain, questioning,
bleed their colour down ****** cheeks
carving lines of loss and love, and
catching mornings light:
flaming and sparking in each sob.

such sudden, sad, and awful beauty
catches at this now flat heart.

so that now, even across the many years
and paths and unforeseen changes that
life has laid before my tired feet,
this picture lingers still, perhaps
caught within some ebb of memory,
flotsam (seemingly forever) anchored
to my perception of irrevocable loss.

intentions,
they sometimes get the better of me,
such that
my automatic, lie-down attitude, sees.
sees me standing here: searching,
desiring the vastness of the open sky
(and beyond), yet:
at each point of involuntary contact,
i find myself embracing the ground,
and during this disjointed,
increasingly frantic
(often disassociated)
illusionary dance,
i sometimes glimpse
the shadow of such unknown wonders,
brush their shape with open hands,
before blindness claims me once more.
such mini discoveries
(or mini-delusions to the minds of some)
keep open the bud of childlike wonder,
starving off decay, and
total submersion within the blindness of
societal preconception.

the creases worn upon my hands -
stretch back,
run the course of lifetime past,
others shaped as they shape me
and
contra to erosions role,
the lines, they deepen, expose the soul:
unlikeness built, carved egos sum,
a monument to blindness done.
but times advance, quells not critics eye,
erosions role resumes anigh.
and what i am, i have become
is carved away - rent to the dust

vision stunted by past deeds
leading to my current place,
childhood face: disconnected,
now adrift on stagnant lake.
cynicism scrawls the map
leading to my resting place,
a symptom of a drying mind,
what once was fluid, now is blind.
each denial of childhood dream
fractures now my world it seems.

mothers tears dried in her grave,
childhood view: never saved.

a surge of grief washes my senses,
seeming to ride the dim,
blue, evening light, and
suddenly i realise, that
this moment will soon be over -
never to be replayed,
that this life will soon be over -
always to be forgotten,
and that which i am, will fade -
dissipate -
end.
caught forever, light is frozen on my eye, a picture of you
arms stretched, evening light tracing your pink flesh,
tracing your face, and
reflecting back at my own eyes
so that i may construct you
experience you internally
(for that is all we ever know).
the very same light that washes your body, also
washes my mind
yet, forever and always, we are separated
by the width of a single electron.

the sun, in harsh stroke,
cuts a sharp line,
breaking the dawn leached wall.
your hand, caught in this sudden brilliance
throws stark contrast to the darkness,
resting quietly over your sleeping form.
motes of dust rise, hang, and then fall,
pirouetting on invisible breeze, and
occasionally catching the light
so that for a moment,
it seems as if you are holding
ephemeral pieces of
the very sun itself.

pungent coffee, stains my mouth, as
i sit and drink in my surroundings,
a carnival of unknown people, parade,
and talk, and shuffle around, each
balancing a steaming cup, careful not
to spill a drop, as chaotic roar
of countless voices, bubble
and boil over into incoherence - the
background noise of modern age,
conversation rendered silent, in
this coffee house

death is
just

cold.

not the fading memories
leaching, lost, into the soil,
and warped as jaded speech
woven through the livings tales.
death is seclusion from the sun,
to stall, to stop, to lose ones way,
forever left at last breaths point,
as time continues on its way.
a coldness deep, to lock in place,
persona lost, caricature replaced.
unknowing darkness keeps
the new unknown,
as coldness claims
the final home.

(for Kiwi - 06/08/2009)

in lieu of gifts and flowered word,
in my stead i'll place your care.
at each dawn i'll hold you near,
talking of our love so clear.
at each noon i'll hold your hand,
sharing of the day we'd planned.
after noon when we sit close,
your troubles i will comfort most.
on the eve we'll laugh and joke,
sharing smiles with other folk.
and as night falls and sleep takes hold,
my Love for you remains untold.

notes lie crumpled in your hands,
frown split lips spill forth your sobs,
as eyes - soft focus look beyond
the clouding veil of life.
slipping out, the blood red streams
(re) paint the bathroom floor.
thumping from the door makes up
missing beats from your chest:
faltering, looking backwards,
fogging mind grasps childhood wonder
sights and sounds and vivid flow
swimming through the decades past.
final breath amidst the splinters,
showering from the broken door,
distant echoes, growing colder,
time, it hangs, forever more.

Life is
fake,
life is
real,
life:
a concept,
thoughtless spiel.

Flesh bag, flesh sag,
stitched to fragile bone,
jelly eyes
**** the light,
as brain
devours the whole.

Gibbered lips,
cast to the air
the only tale they're told,
a truth, a truth,
that casts no light
beyond it's owners trail.

as curtain falls,
night takes its bow,
and words, they fade away.

a history, cast out of sight,
henceforth to be unknown.