I imagine you embracing
That sunlight which was dying to get in
From your room's window—
It became brighter after you removed the curtains.

I envy and I adore—
The bookmark when you hold it in your hands
As you place it back in among the pages of your stories.

I imagine—
That coffee would taste —so blessed.
As it moved very courteously through your throat.

Those petals, those flowers
That you keep twirling between your fingers.
Look more gracious than before—

Are you that lyrical ballad?
Which my fingers long to write.
But my lips tremble to whisper.

What should I write more?—
To tell you
What my heart wants to tell?
Suddenly my heart has made my life like a theatre
And I am an actor, a loner
Dancing to your tunes

Unable to wake up from this dream
Yes, this is my dream —of you
By you; for you.
My dream is you

I woke up from comatose
For taking a strong dose
Of some freak herbal tea

My hands were feeling cold
They looked wrinkled and old
From sleeping by the sea

Then I was told
By a lady wearing gold
That I needed new clothes
For I was shattering my teeth

She said I could get some gloves
At a warehouse down the road
And shoes for my feet

So, I drove my shopping cart
Down the Street of the Destitute
There to the old mart
To get me some mittens and boots

On the end of the road, I saw
A decrepit brick wall
Where the old market stood

It was forsaken place
Long left in disgrace
With windows of rotten wood

I walked through the parking ground
Until by the gates I found
An ancient pig as guard

I knew I was out of luck
When my vehicle got stuck
And I couldn’t run a yard

As the crinkled hog struck
I quickly tried to duck
Behind the shopping cart

The beast jumped like a goat
And it almost got my throat
But I escaped by a hair

I promptly offered him some wine
Because I knew that a swine
Would drink without a care

My gift worked out fine
The mean creature got benign
My neck it would spare

The guard got drunk as a skunk
And I quickly dived in the junk
As a stuporous pig laid on the ground

In a pile of scraps, I sunk
And amidst the waste I found
A pair of gloves for cold weather
And boots of shiny leather

Beautiful humans
here we are,

fraught with eternal upheaval,
behemoths of the soil,
the same soil
we so daringly corrode and replant daily.

is this what you imagined we would become?
have we been able to see through
all the pain and glory,
deviance and
delicate rage,

and come out better for it?

beyond the glimpses
of joy and
misery,

how much have we changed?

dear beautiful humans,
so
strange and remote;
yet close and
familiar.

brother to my left,
sister to my right,
hope to the front and
difference to
the rear,
is this not the ideal?

who are you,
what have you become,
what will you do with
the gift,

here we are,
beautiful humans,
look up at me,
look up from your safe little
silence,
from your concocted prison of
narrow perception,

tell me we are
real;
when everything feels
superficial and
tainted.

fragile beautiful people,
a mass of tender confusion and
lusting for the right way,
how many times
must we throw barbs and
dance in a
wicked moonlight?

how i know that deadly foxtrot, too.

look up at me,
tell me we are worth the trouble,
do we see who we really are?
am I not just a marauding crooner
singing to the empty rafters?

Have we all sang our last song?

Beautiful humans,
so mighty and yet so exhausted,
souls thirsting for reform for it seems
we have lost sight of the sky.

here we are,
beautiful humans, long lived outside
the garden,
from ground dwellers to builders of
empires,
yet the infinite war rages on
and
my last faith remains intact
if only because
I've been convinced
of something
beautiful found
within you and me.

Have you ever been drunk,
and submersed in a funk,
as if trapped in a trunk
but then asked to write junk
in a poem which stunk
though your mind has been shrunk
by a psychotic monk
who’s been beaten punch-drunk
and if not a slam dunk
as a poet you’ll flunk?

Vastness on high
In a troposphere of sky
Delicately blazed
And so intricately phased.

This cavalcade of cirrus
With a slash of errant wind.....
Then, behold, with bravado,
To let the stampede begin.

A clash of hooves at gallop
Across a turquoise sky,
Joins the thunder of the passing,
With the scream of equine cry.

There's Mare's Tails in the Heavens,
In a symphony of song
And the Gods roar embellishment
At the righting of all wrong!

M@Foxglove.Taranaki.NZ