A curtain of mist
is raised
by triumphant sun
then brisk breeze
cues the daffodils
to dance

He did everything
expected
of a true gentleman
tore foxes to shreds
and blew little birds
to smithereens

The land of childhood
a time before
love
loss
and pain

Hazy beams of sunlight
laced with bird song
signal morning

The church clock struck
midnight
in muffling fog
a familiar yet
ominous sound
like the warning bell
on an ocean buoy
tolled by sea's
rythmic swell

Tranquilizers
make her
soggy
and hard
to light

A soothing mien
he has not
but like a shark
in a swimming pool
he has unignorable
presence

Mysterious mist
takes control
giving bulk
while removing substance

Your poems
the flame
I scorch

A piece of green bottle glass
smoothed by restless oceans
seed pod from the horsechestnut
that shaded summer garden
sixpence stained by christmas pudding
dated 1928
a tiny fossil set in stone
rough to the touch of fingers
old lace from grandmothers wedding dress
now stiff and yellowed parchment

Clouds crash
like surf
across metalic grey skies

Impulses signalling
the state
of bone and muscle
come pulsating
along nerves

Glorious spring
determined to show
she gives not a toss
for calenders
arrives on her own time

look at them
a cackling flock
nails,  painted claws  
plucking and clucking over scatter cushions
@ only $5 each
it's a wonder the stuffing doesn't spill

My body
a carcass
to be sloughed off
in death
like a crab
sheds its shell
or a butterfly
it's chrysalis
finally free

wind screams at me
sky a swirling vortex
of grey on grey
angry sea churns
all lumpy brown waves

Every man
keeps prisoner
his own heart
i walk alone

I wrote your name
one hundred times
in the sand
tide erases
leaving memory
untouched

Her face twisted
a mask of grotesque
all joy wrung out
by griefs tourniquet

young love
demands perfection
of face, form and intent
old love
stitches together
the frayed
seeing the beauty
in patchwork

unreality
such a part
of
reality
how can it be
unreal

I have known you
but a day
and already
we have a past

When you opened
the poem
i wrote for you
did you see
my heart fall out

Little girl
you could see
the poetry
in all around
with toddlers walk
still yet to talk
wide eyed in wonder
without sound

Long ago
i was an ocean
walks on the beach
return me

loneliness
and liberty
I tightrope walk

peony rose
a tight pink fist
will open soon
to whatever
comes

Old jewelry box
accepting
of all my broken baubles
for stories told

i wish i knew
what was dragging you back
to old habits
and times
not shared

Past the age
for intrigue
I read my old diary
so urgent
those underlinings

Sun and wind airbrush
cracked concrete
indistinguishable
from baked earth

Irony
love comes
this late
do i care

I come here
and scribble
telling strangers
what they don't ask

My confidence
slinks off
surreptitiously
leaving me
feeling foolish
standing alone

The hills
huddle together
fog draped
around their shoulders
a shawl

As she walks through the garden
her hair swings around her head
affected by the rising mist
it separates
into curls
that twist and swirl

Fog
like grey gauze
singed by fire

The sun shines
as brightly
as undashed hopes
casting pale gold light
across the lawn

salt from your skin
on my tongue
whispers of the sea
and shells
as curled
as my body is curved
around yours

all the love poems
I wrote for you
you didn't throw away
I never sent them

Her face alight
with laughter
and memories shared
She is young
once more
my mother

Love is not a plan
you fall into it
with arms legs mind heart
guts
free falling
like alice
down the rabbit hole

love
unraveled
the sleeve
i wore
my heart on

I see him walking towards me
he has a kind of loose limbed rangy walk
as he swings through rotating city doors
I can't find it in me to talk
his presence leaves me floored
a cowboy from out on the range
on a visit to city he's bored
and feeling more than strange
face creased like aged leather
he works out in all weather
how i wish we had met
on the range
not a set
and lived on into
happy forever

all caught up
in looking at the world
in wonder
a child
does not see
ugly

will we scour this earth
bone white
a skull
picked clean
of eye and soul

a large tree I've hacked limbs from
is staring back at me
through a window
from those wounds
they look like
eyes
and weeping wounded mouth

we
skin on skin
slippery
sliding
all the way
to
over the top
collision
little deaths
a tangle of limbs

I want
to be like
a sheet of glass
with everything
rolling off me
like rain

is a hard word
to define
it doesn't always mean
sexually connected
in the physical sense