I saw the old man circling the tree trunk
Weather beaten skin, bent gnarled hands
and piercing blue eyes

He seemed to study every knot and crack
in that ancient timber

Then without a word turned and picked up hammer and chisel

The wood chips then began to fly and like confetti on the ground lie soon in heaps some ankle high

Occasionally he would stand back and look but never once a rest he took

Mallet strokes both hard and soft some from under some aloft fell there with unerring skill always busy never still

Long into the night he worked now by the light of an oil lamp and so the tree stump 'neath his hand then became a work of art

At long last he stood and turned to me and said three words " that'll do lad"

I approached to see just what he'd done and there I saw the perfect rose every petal and leaf in place the slender stems in the breeze did sway

With no plan or picture he had made the start
And created the perfect work of art.


So what is creativity? Well that's your next challenge.

No love poems because they've been done a million times. This time something unique

I kept my answers small and kept them near;
Big questions bruised my mind but still I let
Small answers be a bullwark to my fear.

The huge abstractions I kept from the light;
Small things I handled and caressed and loved.
I let the stars assume the whole of night.

But the big answers clamoured to be moved Into my life. Their great audacity
Shouted to be acknowledged and believed.

Even when all small answers build up to
Protection of my spirit, still I hear
Big answers striving for their overthrow.

And all the great conclusions coming near.

The painful part is how he talks like me.

I've got buckets of hands
and they all want to be around you.

The average human body is about 65% water
When I see you my body is about 88% water

I'm satisfied with approximate rhymes.
Like to rain again.
Or to lie for eternity.
I'll say your name for years, that'll sound off too.

Bobbing your head to your favorite song
You lent me an earbud
White noise

The painful part is how he acts like me.

Or maybe it isn't him,
or you,
or me,
maybe it isn't anything at all.
Wouldn't that be terrifying?

If God is everywhere, he is in every pedophiles basement.

while i was in my garden an hedgehog i did see
he was fast a sleep beside my willow tree
rolled up in a ball tucked up nice and neat
such a lovely chap small and very sweet.

then when he a woke he began to stroll
all around the garden such a lovely soul
looking for some food. insects and some grubs
in and out the flowers in between the shrubs.

when he finished eating. back to my tree once more
then fell fast a sleep like he was before

take me to a swimming pool that has not been peed in
with no grass or dead wasps floating around my bare skin
one newly installed that hasn't corroded yet

take me to fresh snow that has never been walked in
let me feel the crunch beneath my feet as i step into fresh turf and smile
knowing that they are all my footprints
knowing that i am the only one who has ever touched this ****** powder

take me to a coffin that has never been opened
a faceless, nameless beauty
one that nobody else knows about

and i will treasure it
like it is my own
because i am an old nobody, too

dog ma I

Up the slide
When you start at the top and you slip
When you meet in the middle and you stop and you go for a ride

I am god