I heard you calling quietly,
the voice in the night,
like a siren, just there,
but always out of sight.
I heard your promise,
as you hid there in the light.

I thought I might come to you,
as you gently called my name,
I felt myself drawn to you,
a moth drawn to the flame,
was this really happening,
some dream, perhaps a game?.

I awoke, still here. Alive!
The voice echos in my mind,
the voice that calls us all,
leaves not one of us behind,
the voice, the quiet voice,
sounds so gentle and so kind.

(c) 3rd October 2010

The old man sat, his legs crossed,
opposite the young boy, in the dirt.
"See dat fella?" he said pointing at a tree,
"Dat fella's yer brother, yer big brother."
The boy turned and looked at the tree.
"He's a livin' fella just like you are,
I remember when he was a little fella,
just like you're a little fella now."
The old man smiled, "He's a good fella."
he continued "he'll give ya his bark,
fer yer to make shelter and his branches,
fer yer to make fire when it's cold."

"Dat one dare! Can ya see da bush?"
he asked "Dat bush, dat one your aunty,
when you're hungry she will give ya berries.
See dem little ones?" pointing at the flowers,
"Dem ones they are ya sisters." He announced,
"Dem one's bring you beauty and brightness,
dem ones are de girls dat make us all happy."
The old man laughed showing the gaps in his teeth.
Pointing up he said "Look at dat fella up dare!
Dat fella he carries the sun around ter keep us warm,
an' when dat fella cries he fills our water holes,
dat fella he's our friend he lights candles at night,
so us fellas can find our way back to our womin."

"And what about you grandfather? What are you?"
The boy asked as he looked up at the old man.
"Me!" replied the grandfather "I guess I am da bringer.
I'm dat fella that brings these stories to yer,
so yer can understand that the country is our family,
it is alive like we are and that joins us together."
The old man tapped a twig, he was holding, on his foot.
"When the wind has blown my skin off and I am,
only a white stick laying in the desert sand,
yer will be the one who will look after dis family."
he said. "Then yer will become da bringer."

(c) 31/03/2010

See him on the street,
in his ragged garb,
His state of hygene.
suggesting life is hard.

He screams abuse,
at no one you can see,
he hears voices inside him,
from which he can never flee.

Looking lost and lonely,
cast out into despair.
watch as they ignore him,
as if he wasn't there.

See him shuffle off,
down some shabby lane,
hunted by those voices,
sending him insane.

Where is our humanity,
we treat him like a ***,
this mentally ill man,
who is someone else's son.

(c) 10th May 2010

Holly lived in darkness,
Holly lived in pain,
Holly heard the voices,
from deep inside her brain.

The voice that called her useless,
The voice that told her "Cut".
The voice that called her bad,
the one that declared her "****".

Holly told the doctors,
about these things inside her head,
They said she'd grow out of it,
as they sent her home to bed.

There beneath the donner,
she stayed huddled up for years,
The voices ever getting louder,
they kept adding to her fears.

To day a mother lost her daughter,
they never got to say good-bye.
All the time the voices watched,
they watched Holly die.

(c)  10/May /2010

The old man sat on the Stone of Knowledge,
He called the boy to him for the last time.
As the lad approached him he saw a tear drop,
flowing down the old mans cheek.
“Why do you cry?” the boy asked his master.
“I cry for you,” said the man “for you are a poet.
Your richness will be your description of poverty.
Your banquet will be the bread of the begger.
Your tears will flow with the blood of innocents.
You are like the windmill dredging words of hope
for the deaf ears of greed and the souls of despair.
This is why I cry.  Sit with me before I leave.”

The old man stroked the boys hand and spoke,
“You will need to become the petal of a sun flower,
the scent of a rose and the strength of a tree.
Dream the fall of a raindrop, the drop of a snowflake,
climb mountains and slide down rainbows,
Swim with the shy platypus and the playful dolfin.
You will not see my face again, except in your dreams,
But you will always hear me whispering in the breeze,
be still and listen and you will hear me.” He finished.

“But,” cried the boy, “where are you going?”
“All these things I have asked you to do,
I have done, and more, my time is over,
I must go now to the Land of All Knowing,
There I will hammer my fist upon the gate
and a voice shall call out ‘Who begs entry?’
I shall reply in my proudest voice,
I AM THE POET!"

21/02/2010

And so the girl child sat
knitting melodies beside
the great river of words.
Soon her songs were heard,
beyond the Lake of Lyrics
and the vast Sea of Verse.

The evening tide carried them
across oceans to foreign shores.
Field workers sang her songs
to children in their hovels.
They escaped the lips of scholars
in the great halls of learning.

The child became a woman,
and still she weaved the magic,
from the words of the river,
for the hearts of all who read them.
As she weaved she told the secret
to a child who knitted beside her.

Emerging from the womb of time
I heard her whisper to my heart.
I felt the great river in my being,
and I began to knit a melody.
I heard my soul sing with joy,
I am the child of an ancient poet.

© 30/12/2009

she exists now in a dream state
unaware of the horror and the passage of time
wind rushes through broken panes
moaning mournfully
floors creak and door hinges speak
announcing her presence
this was her house
once a place of light and love
full of family and friends
cotillions resonating with music and dance
and lively conversation
a grand kitchen to prepare the feasts
of pheasant under glass
a gazebo for laughing in the rain
arbors for moonlit meetings with owls
a pond for lilies and croaking frogs
gardens for picking her favorite peonies
a nursery for her children
all this now nothing but ruins
from happiness to a home for bugs and bats
crawling with silverfish, centipedes and black widows
shrouded in cobwebs
drowning in dust
suffocating in stench of rotting wood and desolation
decorated with 100 year old bloodstains
she never saw her killer
never saw the spurting of her arteries
never heard her children’s screams and death rales
she sees her house as it was
and every night she roams the rooms
calling her children’s names in long, haunting whispers

The thirst was gripping,
His will was slipping,
A fix would sort him out,
A female ******,
This genius surgeon,
To this faith, he is devout.

The moon shows up,
He drains his cup,
And enters into the night,
The wait seems longer,
He has time to ponder,
How he'll use his doctors knife.

And, look, he sees her,
His need is like fever,
He must be careful now,
Her drunken laughter,
He follows after,
And  wipes his sweaty brow.

A sweep so quick,
And just a *****,
Her neck leaks blood, so slowly,
His eyes close up,
His ego shows up,
Mountjoy leaves temporarily.

Here stands a monster,
Who pounced upon her,
climactic satisfaction,
His work plans grow,
He intends to show,
These girls, are, but a fraction...

The night was fun,
She felt quite drunk,
But the taxi left without her,
She wrapped her shawl,
And shed her shoes,
And started singing out louder.

She walked and sang,
Quite merrily,
So unaware of danger,
A shadow showed,
A figure pounced,
She stood to face a stranger.

Her eyes were wide,
She shrieked with fright,
His knife rose up to cut her,
Her throat gaped open,
And blood flowed downwards,
Her flesh sliced just like butter.

Excitement grew,
He felt the rush,
And moved on to her gut,
His knife took on,
Its own cruel life,
And he continued with his eyes shut.

The moon gave off,
An eerie glow,
The blood tasted just like wine,
Another fix,
For lord mountjoy,
Strolls home to plan the next time....

She knew she had it coming, he was due home any minute,
That stupid ****** letter, she knew she should have binned it.
The door flies open, in he storms, angry flaring nostrils,
"So baby, you think you're leaving me for that ******* at the sawmill?".
She backs up, knowing what's in store, he locks them both inside,
She runs away, to no avail, there's nowhere she can hide.
He catches her and spreads her legs and lifts her to the table,
On top of her, he violates, he's obviously unstable.
"Let him take you now *****", spitting words into her mouth,
Then just as quickly as it started, he sighs and pulls it out.
The facade returns, her chores begin, she aches for her sweet lover,
He'll come one day to rescue her, and save her from her father.

Im so ******* tired it pains  me to dream
of a promise of tommorow.
The past held moments  Im a dreamer without vision.

A mud puddle reflecting many thought's *******
up and so very unclear.
The bottle's company my only true friend.

They see me as nothing but a fool.
I hate the prison  that has become
my soul.
The state fair trinket broken hearts
and cotton candy.  
A fargone memory in the lifeless
air.

I could play the role or act the *******
Ive slowley become.
Pull the trigger and paint the legend.
Free the fool and cast the sunset of my days.

But im addicted to there praise.
Slave to exceptance  losser to the big win.
Have the courage to show your face.

Goodbye for now .