I have to go
To fight a war
I have to go
But I'll return

There is a sorrow creeping on a lonely soul
Sitting a raven on a statue of Aphrodite
Buzzards and doves
Buzzards and doves

I have to go
A call to arms
I have to go
But I'll return
When all the battles are won

There is a grey cloud with a terrible face
Menacing eyes and scowling jawls
A feeding vulture
A bird of paradise

Buzzards and doves
Buzzards and doves

I have to go
But never leave
I have to go
But you are with me
In all the battles won
In the peace of a soldier marching home
I have to go
But I'll return

Buzzards and doves
Buzzards and doves
And me a crow
Fighting for a soul

Today I battle
my own negativity
the dark side of
my moon
glowing cold
in the sear
of burns
those little
inflamed live
scars receiving
the salt
of tears
that I gather
in opaque blue
and indigo-hues
in the privacy
of the soft spaces
in the drawers
of my heart
little aches
that grow
as the hours
get smaller
little quakes
on low
in emotions'
faded squalor
and as I plunge
over that
spiritual abyss
draw in my
knees, let the
winds brush
my lips
in a mocking
lovers'  kiss
and try to catch
that beating mass
as it bursts
right through
my chest,
in broken slips
of shattered
glass
I tell myself
in whispers
"No, warrioress!
This time
you will not
be destroyed"
and I fling
my heart,
so bruised
into the
burning,
golden
void

I find myself on the road
poet's walk on
Keeping the stride
in time to the rhyme
With no way of knowing
where I am going
Trying to stay tight
to the center line

Call it a whim
the puddles that I step in
Before anything's said
most times over my head
I still stick to the road
cause it's all that I know
Trying not to step
to the right or the left

I pick up a rock
toss it out like a thought
Setting it free
at high velocity
Hoping it lands
at the point of my pen
And not roaming free
in the weeds

For so long now I've been
on this road with no end
Following the flow
wherever it goes
That's fine by me
I'll see where it leads
This poets road
that I am on

John wrote,
I read the news today...
He recounted accidents, wars, ***-holes.
I did too... today.
I read about charity runs,
Music under the Bluewater Bridge,
Teachers receiving National Awards.
There are many sections to the paper
I read through my wire-rimmed glasses.
I'm getting older, all the time,
So I avoid the nastiness with my morning coffee.
Is killing terrorists good news?
Oh boy!
What would John read into that.
We need some help!
I may skip the news tomorrow,
And make some holes
To let the light in,
The darkness out.

Lucid dreaming is the doorway
        to the unconscious.
So dream.
Do not stay closed
        behind cement barricades
        blocking the moon
        from shining.
Live.
Each second is for you.
The tumbling of life
         does not promise
            anything.
In one breath
you can have
        a time table
        handed to you.
A distinct framework
        of how much
        longer you shall be.
Stay in illusion.
Keep in mind
that very little
is worthy of
being screamed about.
Politics
        and
people games
        are not
         the substance
        of existing.
Picture colourful images
         that flutter
          playfully
            across the
           mental horizon.
A traffic light
      will
       blink
red, yellow, green.
A noise
        will dominate
         the shading sky.
These mean nothing.
Moments of distraction
        soon
         gone away.
Focus on fantasy.
Allow yourself
the freedom to
         celebrate
        the essence
        of harmony.
When you die,
       it will be
         your dreams
         that are
          remembered.
Breathe.
It's just
      a bad day,
      not a bad life.

Darkness with her companion love -
mix touch and memory with mystery
and *******
A Gibbous Moon tucked away in the cloudy
twilight , a flashlight sending Morse code
on a foggy night
Fidelity chartered vessels sailing the ambiguous shallow peril
Soldiers bargaining their mortality in the heat
of battle
Clarity bound in fetters of memory and worthless prattle