i dreamed a vortex
a rotating Shangri-la
full of light and life
all lush and green and blooming
it opened up beside me
and looking down in rapture
I smiled, then leapt right in

so many shoulds
and so many coulds
not many ares

wading through tide pools
full of green anemones
******* at my toes

i saw a strange sight
at the bus station last night
an old white ten speed blender
waiting in line for the bus
sitting there on the pavement
it seemed passive and patient
in that mad rush-hour lineup
and it was the only one
that remained unplugged

a deserted farm
near the bend in the river
good for blackberries

things change gradually
and you adapt to them
when things change quickly
you struggle to adapt
in this protean life
that breeds such brilliance
and threatens existence
the furnace of greatness
and the angel of death
don't you think that you should
have some compassion

luminescent waves
leave ghostly trails on the beach
neath the milky way

a scrumbled lead sky
the mountains in stark relief
waiting for the rains

sweet sugar candy
your luscious deliciousness
that pleasures my tongue

i thread the needle
an ant among fellow ants
on the hot pavement
between the glinting towers
traffic and voices collide
as the sun burns relentless
and green turns to red again
castaway on a curb now
i watch a crippled pigeon
tapping morse code as it limps
a jagged circle round me
the light turns to green and i
am an ant again

clear cloudless morning
salmon pink and yellow skies
wrapped in nighttimes chill
i wait for my morning coffee
poking embers in the fire
chipped enamel *** ontop
from within the wood a song
clear and bright and strident sung
a robin greeting the day
brightens my expectations
pushes away the cobwebs
as the whiskey jacks arrive
wondering what's for breakfast
trout and eggs today my friends
take what you can steal

you know i love you
cause i always tell you so
i don't play no games
with a sweet lover like you
come on down to the river
i got a bottle of wine
we'll laugh away the sunset
and make love until the dawn
you know i love you

and the truth about
behavioural management
though never implied
is that the behaviourist
is equally affected
bad for bad and good for good
for we are all plastercene
everything leaves its mark
and we are all flexible
and easily remolded
for bad or for good

opulence and taste
in layers of mud and clay
broken porcelain

Texting with my daughter
I wrote, "please tell my grandson
That I love him very much."
Shortly after she replied
That Evan had rejoined, "that's right!"

night comes drifting in
spilling over the mountains
filling the valleys

train rails and switches
chairman Mao in effigy
executed, hanged
all white and pierced through by knives
cold crow calls threading the wind
cup cake clouds float past in rows
dry board walls and puttied glass
tagged and tagged again

in my life again
saying that you love me
only time will tell

life's confetti
sparkling colours, floating in
time's dark endless depths

your moles are signposts
and your freckles are pathways
leading me to bliss

not a tinkers dam
do i care about your style
it's content for me

her landscapes' smooth curves
and stunning topography
were never at odds

wet logs strew the beach
you walk alone through the rain
pebbles clattering
stepping over the bull kelp
and skirting the roilng surf
the sky turns an iron grey
and mist seeps down through the wood
but inside you feel a glow
that gives you warmth and comfort
my love within you

vaults, crypts and tombstones
marble, sandstone and granite
broken and cracked cement graves
golden stubble surrounding
beneath dark oak and pine trees
waving wildly in the wind
a small child runs through afraid
of hands reaching from their pits
to pull him into the dark
crows perching above taunt him
pushing him to run harder
till he reaches the safety
of his grandfather

all along the fence
small pink roses were blooming
dry oak leaves and twigs
covered the cracked gray asphalt
of the twisted country road
where it turned sharply and passed
the tall narrow old farm house
now covered in blackberries
its broken windows staring
from beneath the thorny veil
front door open and gaping
and the stairs now fallen down
i slowed as i was passing
and thought of all the stories
happy, sad and beautiful
that had been lived within it
this creaking old derelect
now just home to the dry wind
and forgotten dreams

across the boardwalk
a large bronze beetle scrambles
through herds of flip-flops

it is a sad truth
so many hide in bubbles
as they cross life's pond

pale blue kimono
all birds and cherry blossoms
that spills down your curves
and falls open as you glide
gifting me the briefest glimpse
of sweet paradise

when i was a boy
adults seemed caricatures
they still often do

bright coloured jewels
racing through bulrushes on
cellophane rainbows

mosquito larvae
crowd the surface of the pond
under the dead oak

blood red rosehips
sway on thorny bushes
petals in the wind

someday i will die
my lifes' refrain now over
a sweet song now sung
but i will be satisfied
to of sung my song clearly
baring my heart and my soul
full of love, truth and freedom
until the baton is stilled
and i fall silent

poppies in the wind
symbols of those forgotten
and lifetimes stolen