Passing by those
owners of sad lost eyes
like Rubin's faceless
slumping on kerb ridges 
body bridges
between pavements and
shuttered shop cages
where the cast of a streetlamp gets swallowed up
by dime bag shadows,
30 to 1 outsiders
and washed up wannabe beatniks
too wild for Kerouac pages.
I'm sure there's a beauty somewhere there
below the crust of the surface
late in the a.m. between
stiletto heels clip and echo
and the strike and flare
of cigaretted fingers
if I only dared
to thread and seek out
where a different twist of choice nearly led.

she sits
cigarette lit
drinking down
a bottle or two.
I sit
opposite
sipping upon my view.
Close night
shared eyes
fireside
candle light
bodies abide
what they do.

You can have such a true love
one you love complete,
but the one you love the most
Won't always know what you mean.

Ain't saying it was a sign,
a definitive moment,
a blessing of bliss
or an ominous omen,
but just before we kissed
I noticed a full moon shining,
sound ceased
as if time was frozen.
And there's no other place
my thoughts chase
or my body's aching for.
Ain't stating planets aligned
bringing us to now,
a prophesy
or cast runestones
foresaw us somehow.

I ain't got no geise to violate
or solmn vows
to bestow upon a moment,
but if I was to believe in such,
I guess it would all make sense
for me and you
and to view this time as something that was meant to be.

Scattered light
mottles through the rank of trees
reigning over the aisle between fields
in royal stainglass arcs of protection.
The wheat is young and green
though stretches tall enough to dance under the influence of wind's song
and conceal
scurrying mouse, hare
and proud breasted pheasant
from hunters gun and farmers dog.
No echoed shots ring out today
only the call of birds
seeking twig and thistledown
to weave chalice cupped homes
high up in the throne of trunk,
out of view
from all but the few
who come to seek solitude.

Almost content
Not fully there yet
But an improvement nonetheless.
Yes?
I'll take that
as time well spent,
well as time not wasted
a recovery of sorts
Almost brave enough to gather thoughts,
Almost.
Almost considering making plans.
Yes,
Plans come before hope but after dreams. And I'm not ready to consider anything as bountiful as those.
But it'll take more time. More healing and permitting myself an occasional forgiveness.
Maybe just one.
Meant to help lighten the load so I've been told

She wears a ring on a chain
around her neck,
never hides it away
or acknowledges it.
A plain silver ring
aged and smoothed by time
though the chains have changed
once in a while.
Sometimes when she reads
or when deep thoughts distract
her fingertips gently caress.
It's her's, this ring she does posses
and of it's secret
I'll often wonder,
but always respect.
In all of these years
I've never asked.
I think a part of her
is grateful for that

Beneath the overhang of tension
we hesitate,
wait
for words to settle,
be withdrawn,
or apologies offered.
Curses spoken in haste provoke an impulsive, immediate reaction,
an equal cutting response.
We've lived and suffered the consequences before.
Allowed actions as instinctive as lust to run raw.
And we've been subjected to it's prideful display.
Guilty as a drunk's song waking dogs in the wee hours
and as certain as sure
we were right
all along.

A timble of breath
spills with her "yes"
eyes respond honestly
yet
edged with a trickle of nervousness
as her fingers trace
contours of flesh
along forearm and bicep then leap to cup
nape of neck
and lure tentative steps between distance of our lips. And lids close out the rest
as the kiss inhales a timble of my breath

Attractive women still hook my eye
stir a spurt of blood from an instinctive side,
but they lost the power they once had to drive me wild
and vacated the thoughts where they used to reside.
Guess I'm now more drawn to those who have an attractive mind.

Aul ones chinwagging
elbows on gate post
covering the weather
and those down the road.

Aul fellas gardening
weeding and mowing
musing about sports shows
and time long ago.

Nippers bawling
for bottles and changing,
wanting cuddles and tickles
wriggling their toes.

Children itching
for adventure and mischief,
muddy battles and bike rides  
princesses and vikings
climbing and swings.

Young teens
with make-up and dresses
hairbrush microphones
guitar tennis rackets
moviestar pose.

Adolescents practicing kisses
dances and car rides
Breakups and make-ups
wanting independence
then move out of home.

Men and women
seriously working for
marriages and family
And when they are auld.

Clawed back from the dredges of deep self-pitty
"woe is mine" and "abandoned" and other such decrees.
Raised head aloft above self and had a good musing of this one grain among many.
others are far worse
and others faring better
but most
grains fare the same.
Is there a parculiar comfort in sorrow?
An odd warmth to loneliness
Perhaps it's a strange familiarity that forgives lack of energy.
Though the choice of circumstance maybe beyond our persuasion,
how we deal with it
is in our control.
Or so I heard someone say

Can be hard to stare unflinching into the eyes of reality
coloured by harshness and badness riddled with tragedy.
Run by dictators and tyrants,
corrupted democracy,
religious fanatics,
blinded hypocrisy.
Innocent children washed up on beaches dying to be refugees
what's that teach us?
Fleeing the horrors of war, torture, starvation, killing and maiming.
Ordered by powerful faces on posters, the soulless have no shaming.
Shake our heads, "it's so terribly sad" express our empathetic views
before flicking on chatshows,
turn off the news.
Can be hard to grasp reality really
in our protective womb
harder to admit what happens closer to home, in the other room.
Violence, abuse, ****, neglect.
Smaller wars perhaps, but with the same truamatic effect.
These don't make the headlines or cover front pages
untill we end what's beside us we can't end the evil that rages.

tied a baloon
to the tombstone
of her best friend
in the cemetery
A puffy metalic-blue
number two
marking the passing
of her anniversary.

She shuddered then cried
till she spied
her sobbing complexion
in the balloons reflection.

Heard her friend laughing at her
she needed that,
oh how she needed that.

Battle hardened hearts
***** battlements
to protect from future
emotional elements
and
bitter scares.
Because every love is a possible enemy
and every love is a possible knife twist.
Is it better to stay alone and numb
than allow room for more hurt to exist?
If a love should come
bringing liberty
to smash those cold walls
there will still be
noticiple relics in crumpled debris
cautions of what could be.
Don't fear them or let them mislead.
heed their history,
but set your heart free.

The glimmer of light
skimming upon ripples
is so bright
I squint
trying to capture
its sparkling life,
to absorb its nature
and bare witness
while it yet exist,
before it slips
away
like a passing love
you would die to save.

Cat spat out a baby bird
deader than a drunk's promised word
broken from the maw
only a little blood, no more.  
Could've cried a little
as I scooped it up from the door
into a dandoline dust pan
before the kids saw.
The cat did what cats do
I wasn't angry with it as it pawed
my ankle expectantly seeking a reward

Below the window the street spills through with each car pass and dribbling pavement foot fall, splashes of voices fresh as lilly dew. Babbling babes follow falling toys, hellos and goodbyes wash away in time's tides. And I listen out for you

Within the woods
a cluster of silver birch
stand proud among the pines and hazel and elms.
Below the gaze of the silver bark eyes
half hidden beneath the mulch and loam of ground
a toppled circle of stone can be found
to a kean eye
faded traces of blackened soil
painted by the death of a flame
It holds memories, if you listen,
of promises and dreams intimately whispered about the fire
when everything and the world died except you and I.

Between steps
her silence paces
ripples of a memory
keep me company.
And I swear at times
I can feel her hand clenching mine
snug deep in an overcoat pocket;
her breath sighing
into my ear
on the verge of uttering,
but words no longer live there
and
how our bodies pressed so close
our heartbeats were
undistinguishable
and everything rhymed.

Treated the plywood to be weatherproof, jigsawed to size base, sides and roof.
Applied non-toxic wood glue,
clamped pieces 'til sturdy and dry
not forgetting an entry hole through which birds may fly.
Took time with the birdhouse,
hung it snug in a tree.
If it will be used for the winter
I'm waiting to see.

The rabble simmered to a distant dull din
muffled by thick wooden doors and hands clamped over ears.
Wanting deafness rather than to hear again
the laughter accompanied by his name spoken ugly as sin.
But who can mute memories or what screams from within?

Wilting for another night
wishing a dream would birth
enough light,
praying
to believe he could face the world
head held high,
no stoop to stop confidence
nor twist of frown to drown positive assurances.
just enough would be enough for him
if he could walk the way
the beautiful do.
Just the way they do.

Neons red in rain drops
bleeding down the window
a prayer for the ones
deserving more than they got.
Knew one,
a little buttercup,
parchment pale skin
and the bluest eyes
never caught a break
like a pigeon
with a low hanging
wing
on the ground it trails
left to peck in the gutters
with all the others
but the others
can always fly away.

His shoulders wilted
like the petals of a weary cafe flower.

low as a fading iodine evening light.

Drained trying to understand
those last riverlets of kisses  
that douced his contours

parceled cushions of a lovers mouth
dripped lush droplets
of breath and promises.

The same mouth

that shuddered sorries

before
uttering goodbye
forever more.

I listen for the call
in words,
in a look,
in a touch.
Longing for the return
of the soft weight and crush
of your ******* upon my chest.
Flesh hotter than Fahrenheit
together pressed,
roll and glide and engulf.
Lips and tongue and your
love's tremble
slight,
arch of body and scented hair tumble.
Our love's shared laughter,
kisses pealing
our campanology
freely ringing,
echoing
till sleep.

Words set sail from the bay of her mouth
Traveling distance on waves meant for somewhere else
but they crashed upon his shore
and cast him away
She was oblivious to this.
later in a quiet cove
far from others
her concern asked of his silence.
How could he tell her he caught sight of her course?
A lie.
I'm fine,
had too much wine and such.
They drifted apart soon after.
That was years ago

Mildew bruised walls
dappled spread of white
between damp
black patches
spaning cinderblocks
beneath dry-rot rafters
supporting rusted
corrugated tin roof
worn thin and
pricked with holes.
Facing me and fantasy
they transform and morph
to marble rich castle walls
draped with bold tapestries
dripping crystalline feathers
from golden vaulted ceiling.

A fool sings a bard's song.

Catch you
my breath,
shambolic hope,
flustered thought.

Take you:
glimmer kissed tear,
aphotic state,
penny drop.

Hold you
my ridicule,
cowardness,
dreary repetitive wish.

Their weight devours me so.

Like snowflakes
the lace
mesh of net
curtain drapes
the window
that admitted your entrance.
You and the wind
to fan flames of a smokey fire,
giving tongues to the chimney troath.
There you now sit
between
gossamer and pane
wondering how it's shut
against elements raw
puzzling the porthole with paw
through which you wish to explore
to chase whisked leaves
and shadows fleet.
The window opens no more.

He made beeswax
from honeycomb caps
scraped,
distilled,
filtered
through a fine muslin sack.
Seeped liquid gathered
dark honey stays there
pure wax floats and cools in a layer
on top.
Removed with care
for the melting ***.

Cotton wick
best braided flat
cut to length the strip
for the hot vat.
Dip
by timely
dip
dressed
a veil,
a shroud,
a cloak.
The chandler's
pale golden coat.

She considerately held a smile
and strained to conceal the strain
of politeness,
asking correct questions
with an ear of patience
conveying interest
to spare feelings from being hurt.
Though I held a mask
of being fooled by her falseness
we knew we knew
and yet the charade continued.
I admire her for that.

Relationships based predominantly on *** are like chewinggum:
Sure it's mouthwatering and juicy at first, but when the flavour goes you're left going through the motions. Sooner or later you're gonna bite your tongue or be spat out on the pavement and trampled upon.

Sponsored by the good people of beefjerky,

Evening light washes pale
traffic scrunches up the motorway
weary bones heading home
minds coiled tense as a spring
ready to offload
wasted hours devoured by work.

Cloud cap,
graphite matte,
raised a horizon peak.
Pale magnolia added flesh
to dawn's early brow.
Is blindness worth witnesssing
the opening eye of the sun?
Waiting for the evening's softer one.

We all have a place
that we keep
(just in case)
our hord
or our stash
our clutter.

Things that had purpose
or by some chance
may be used again.
Oddities and nic nacks
Old candles and keys
obsolete rechargers and batteries
cables and thimbles,
coins of foreign currencies
manuals and letters and lint.

And they are stored
in shoeboxes,
beer crates
bottom drawers
wardrobes,
on garage shelves
or in hearts.

River hardened stones
cobble the road
centuries old
like polished bones
of the countless souls
that have roamed.
What stories they've told
what memories they hold.
adding mine to their load
a passage of one travelling home.

My heart feels old today
it rattles like a stone in a can.
My eyes feel cold today
as they strain for gems in a prospector's pan.
My feet feel heavy today
trudging the ruts I've created time and again.
My thoughts feel tired today
they eloped with all hope and ran.

The cost of a dream
castrates it
uneven
unclean
sharp as a window's peak
or the mock of hindsight
is it because it's a selfish thing
to want what is wanted?
Can we allow ourselves
to be purely happy
without the inevitable afterthought
of why is there always a price,
or anxiously expecting negativity?
Perhaps it's just me...
unless the dream is for another.

The secrets of winter
give the deep dark redness
to the leaves of the crabapple tree.
I have no desire to prune or sculpt.
I am not wise,
but know enough not to try.
Rooted steadfast
yet its limbs sprawl wild
as if defying me.
Planted when I wed.
Imprisoned yet free.
My love for thee.

There's leaves waiting to be gathered pooled by the trunk
while others remain restless on limbs seeking one strong gale to unite with the fallen and have done with the inevitable.
The rake is eager to prove its worth peeking out from the shed.
I'm in no rush while enjoying the lush crimson and amber and brown watching as one by one they topple down.

Guzzling Joe
black 'n strong 'n unsweetened as it ought to be
to kick a little something into you
and a drag of a smoke in a quiet place while there's still some morning silent grace like an embrace awake
under a pastel smudged dawn
as dew clings on to another moment forlorn in its dissipation
it gets you ready for the slow deliberate walk into another day