This river runs wide and free. This river means home to me.

This river I know Caradoc crossed.
Through Catimundua’s vanity his kingship lost.

Arthur a tourist here drunk on local fusty beer.

This river crossed my blood as Galloglass and Saxon
Would.

In the hook of the river the gales give gifts of frowns
Worn in all the northwest towns.

These ****** scowls don’t mean your sad just were you grow the wind was bad.

And by bad I don’t mean wrong.
That it just blows long and strong.

This river drew me near today, like the faithful go to
Pray.

This river will outlive my time and see as dust this mortal rhyme.


This river has now claimed this day as red light low pours out through the gray.

The capricious pair,
A picture of pure decadence
The insipid air
A figure of their consequence

April 2007

Tavy CleaveWhen I walked along your leats;The hawk soared the sky,Singing it's song like prayer,Cutting through blue time.Round your corner of hill majesty,Tawny colours grew;Grass: dun as a horses back;Cleaved hills knitted my fissured flesh and heart.Empted I approached:The blue river of you flowed through me,Where echoed waterfalls reached deep pools,Sweet wild songs rose to the top of your granite shoulders.

writhe and
gape of tortured

   perspective
   rasp and graze of splintered

normality
               crackle and
               sag
   of planes          clamors of
   collision
   collapse         As

peacefully,
lifted
into the awful beauty
                                  of sunset

                                  the young city
putting off dimension with a blush
enters
the becoming garden of her agony

I lit
the wick,
a slow start,
barely a fire...
almost smoldering...
but
just the same,
there's a flame
rising above
a flicker.
And I can see
no doubt
it's gonna shine.

Among the graces of orchard kings,
we sit like moonlight on a field of grain.

In violet beams of
sky-burst
bright
in the evening,
the warriors dance to beats of lives saved and lives lost,
to beats of
foot on
    foot on,
pounding the ground rock soil.

Again they dance,
waving hands through swarms of fire,
    light,
fire;
flying home to forest swamps in the no-light.

Child's laughter bursts as smoke from a pine cone,
    frizz-pop,
and they alight,
from guilty blamelessnesses
to a painfully relieving smolder of the
    seh-
the sel-

        ego-self.

Still they dance with eyes closed,
their raised elbows bent, rotating their bodies like planets
as we revolve around this great giant beast of,
    monster of,
deliverance and,
compassion and,
movement and,
all things in this universe that could ever be so bright and fruitful.

You are my morning,
you are my evening,
you are my night-time dreaming
     reflection in the mirage on the horizon.

Sleep now,
as your heroes dance silently around your sibling star,
beat,
    beat
the foot on,
    foot on;

pounding the ground where you sleep.

Her bare feet slapped against the pavement.
Tulle skirt stuck to her sweaty thighs.
The first drop fell.
Rain came that day.

Arms outstretched, she started to twirl.
Until the footsteps came near.
Out of time with the thunder claps and bursts of light.
She stopped and stared.

He was there.
Drenched in the rain.
Watching.
She laughed and pulled him to dance with her.