Like a bellow pulsating anxiety fans
the fires of love for only what is lost
Can tell the full story of what is priceless
While Love itself be  stable it  only when
It is wrenched away- when the whale that
Is in the seas leaps from the them that its
Self  is fully felt as the heart of life itself

Just in case you feel envious of the famous
Remember this when you or I die it will not
Be int he news or on the the telly Why?  you
Know  why because there will be no news at
The end of the world if my love not rise again

There is much that you see that you
Do not yet know that you Love  All
that is old and familiar and is rundown
Now parting.  That old man with the
Cane soon you will not see him any
More.  The cobbled streets the broken
Down shanties, the old tresste over the
River.  Shame shame how much you
Disliked and looked  down on it all:
The streets of your home town now only
Memory -the abandoned houses on the great
Estates that you snuck into they had treasures
Of another time always  now-then if you  See
The passing glory of it all is that it is not lasting
As the little prince said you only truly see when
See with the heart with your heart breaking.


To the  old man in the shabby   store who
who sold me penny on the way home from
school.

In the timeless dark waiting
One awakes and His first wish
To know the kind king who rules
Where he may reside where love
Is Sovereign over all.  He sees it
Not nor yet feels only that it is true
A skeleton of logic, a tautology of
Being that where he is all is good
The seed of imdination that even if
Forget still is.and still lives in the
Light that which only perceives its
Shadow. Have you not heard spoken
The Word: "Forgive them they know
not what they do"  For there is beneath
The very beast the child that was and
Still is.  More than this I say that if the
Great world be evil it is but a sham and
Illusion that perishes before the Truth

Pretentions of knowing are the first signs of a growing
maturity but to be fair it begins innocently enough.

In the evening twilight the  sounds of the
Village are heard from far and wide as echoes
Of an  eternal yesterday fragments of  play at
At the end of a day.  Like sparks before the
Coming dark so clear so faraway speaking to
The Heart of a forever loneliness for what was
Golden-now  has passed; a child's summers day

For my sister Sue Eileen on her birthday with  Love
David

From the green valley I see the lumbering hills
Of darker green are the forests that like a shawt
Are draped  over a beautiful stranger who's face
You cannot  see but  who beckons you to come.
You know you cannot get there because what you
See will not be there.  It is so with so much that is
Desired.  You cannot always come to what can only
Be seen at a distance; you know this but still you go
When you are young and when old long to return to
The valley where the faithful hills still stand guard