The curve of the Earth goes looking for you
It wants to find your trough
Stop eating for a moment
For this data is quite rough
It wants to tell you something
Why to this marble you are glued
Only now the revelation
After eons have accrued

It'll be different for you and me
And all that touch the ground
Why gravity is set that way
Almost but not quite bound

It lets you jump and skip
Without floating through the ether
Or getting crushed to bits
Each human
Whale
And caterpillar

Semi fixed in place
All tiny flavours slowly mix
But if just one evaporates
Premature

The brew is ruined

Can't be fixed

Climbing mountains
Aviation
Space flight
Are resistance to the plan
To keep all ingredients
Aboiling in the pan
The stew is almost ready
It just needs a bit more salt
Unless we truly slip them surly bonds
But that deffo won't be my fault.

"come in, come in, part the curtains.
I'll tell your future.

i tip toed in...heavy night
beyond the door.
the curtains parted rippling
like water circling a deepening hole

and the face of shadow moans,
"you seem to be looking for answers???"

"well, yeah, does the size of the tombstone
tell how much you are loved,
or how much love you gave?'

"sit down," the shadow tells me,
i'll dust off the prayer wheel,
tell your future."

"when i was a kid
i dreamed in shadows
and whispered to the night.

i know the future.

the dead go to places
they will only know."

the face of shadow offers
roses cupped in wistful hands.

the shadow dissipating,
petals from black roses falling to the ground.

Today, early on a
Saturday morning, I'm
trying a little trick I
learned from Bukowski.
I put on some classical
music and I am trying
to write.
Beethoven's 5th in C minor.

I sit in my favorite chair and
watch my black cat lie on the
back of the loveseat and
watch the snowfall.
She looks triumphant,
but it could just be the music.
The philodendrons that hang
around the house and the
bamboo plants seem happier, too.
There's no hope for the palm tree.

Well, the main thing is that I put the
pen to paper, and Beethoven,
my cat and you came along for the
ride.

Maybe the cellos, violins, and
trombones will fertilize my
creativity.
Now, my other two cats have joined
the fun.
They wrestle by the heater and laugh at
all the fat, rich *******.

Lord, you have helped me to stand
Always at your command
You have guided me through
Your uplift is my continued pursue
You are my life insurance
Your policy is my influence
Your words conquer all
Even when you call
Solid as a rock
I am one of your Flock
I stand
Upward praise
Your amaze
Sometimes I don’t understand
Your teachings concrete
You are who I seek
Don’t let my spirit go weak
Satan always defeat.

She was a twenty something
art student with just enough
cleavage to allure my attention,
she spoke with an elegant whisper,
her hair resembled a roosters ****
although her red framed glasses
complimented the style brilliantly.
I have read all your poetry she said,
you are so openly honest about
prostitution, drunkards in ******
strip clubs, washed up poets in
drug infused jazz joints, the cruelty
of bull fighting and oh my god
*******!. You must be confusing
me with someone else I said. I went
back to my lonely room and wrote
this down …
Clay.M

I was on a train from
Paris to Amsterdam
and with an empty page
a sad smile and a pen
she was looking out
the window across
the apple green fields and
into the valleys of cobbled
villages and ****** churches
and as the dead air of Paris
was leaving my mind
I began to read the reflection
of questions in her eyes
I wanted to tell her what
she already knew
that the answers are in
the rhythm of the rails
and to only underline
the words that matter ...
Clay.M