Did the night
whisper your name?
Did I speak it
in a wish?
It hung here suddenly
almost a physical thing
delicately chiming echoes
elusively
pealing petal images
long after its bell had rung.
My heart listed
into its fading wave
before
its gentle ripple was lost
amid the sea
of a cruel cacophony.

Petals weaping to the floor
so softy goes his sorrow
among the throng
sinking into silent folds
of rushing strangers
and weary busy waitresses
that trample the petals
as if hearts don't matter.
She would have gathered them
risking crushed fingers and peculiar glances,
and gently place them in her pocket
until home
to save them between book pages,
or the bruised ones for perfume.
She would have noticed him,
he knew
and did once.

Picked a star's flicker
behind a thinly streched shroud
of cloud
not long did it linger
before rain came down
and washed poor incy star out.
Did it jingle
as it twinkled goodbye?
No,
just the wish of a fool
with nothing better to do
than look for one last celestial wink
as his clothes get soaked.

When the snow melted
it took chunks of the road in its thaw.
Potholes sunk
where the water slurpped
away the under-soil.
Silence left with the white
now more venture outside
overstocking supplies
"we'll n'er run out again,"
one swore.
And cats are back spraying,
and dogs barking in confusion.
And the crocus buds to remind me
nothing has really changed
in all this change

pockets of puddles
between cobbles:
gaping mouths
ready to gobble,
tears dotting tissues
dripped sorrowful issues,
petals of rain in bloom
a thousand abandoned tombs,
spaces to reflect night,
mirrors warped by rippling light,
nets to capture minds.
Beneath my feet.

I'll have to iron them I said for the fifth day in a row
eyeing the pile as it grows
stacked on a chair buried somewhere there under the creases and crumbled clothes
Er, I'll do it tomorrow,
maybe,
who knows?

Our behaviours are reactions to our perceptions of situatuons
There may not always be a best option
but most problems have a solution.
For those that don't
we can make resolutions
when things get out of our control
we can learn to control our reactions,
our behaviour and self-perceptions.

Regrets settle on a memory
like dust on an abandoned cobweb
out of reach
to wipe cleanly away.
It's an eye sore
you ignore,
but it's always there
when you try to overlook it.

People remember parks when there's sunshine,
Set off for the beach when the weather is fine.
I prefer the Autumn and Winter when they're just mine.

I buried my cat tonight as my children slept.
I'll tell them in the morning,
hope their sadness doesn't carry into Christmas.
About ten years ago I burried his brother.
Not quite next to each other,
but close enough to count
for something I guess.
Cruel job collecting what was his, throwing them out,
cleaning where I found him.
Trying to stay calm.
Tonight I write because I can't afford a shrink.
Maybe that's why I always write.

The clouds have gone
leaving stars, space
and a bitter chill.
I stand still
listening to the wind
picking its way through
trees' naked limbs.
My cat sleeps near me,
purring its engine,
close now to its end.
I could have been a better owner
to my feline friend.
I hope he pulls through,
but he's old and no longer can fight
with the other tom cats
who enter my garden at night.

You stop me dead in my tracks
like a roadside ghost
searching for phantoms cast
by the glow of your eye
when you said that you love me,
I'm expecting a lie to lurk
from the vulnerable part
I've tried to hide
cause I've heard it before
returned the word too
of four letters
more than once.
Insecurity set to pounce,
should I bale or sabotage this revelation your perfect mouth poured into my ear but you couldn't hear
the bleeding, seeping, weeping
echoes from yesteryear.
On another road
when my love was hurled back
killing something inside
leaving a ghost on the tracks.

She stood so still,
so silent,
freeze-frame focus.
a pinpoint of calmness
staring towards
the horizon where
ozone touches ocean
as she would
with one fluid motion,
one leap of perfection
from cliff ledge
to plunge and merge
so still, so silently
not a ripple
would mark her passing.

Saturday's sky a dessert for the eye,
Creamy clouds dolloped liberally,
fluffy and plump
floating silently
through rich azure
sprinkled
with hovering vs
of birds soaring high.  
To have wings is to be blessed,
why can't I?
Questions of a child
still rumble in my aging bones.
Though I'm kind of glad
to still have
echos of innocents
and hidden hope
that one day I may.

Internal scream yearns to echo
lacking surface to rebound
when insides are hollow
a cry is the loneliest sound.
Breaking silence's seal
anguish looms worse
when none care to listen
desperate pleas become cursed.

When Autumn kissed the tree,
its leaves blushed and fell.
Starlings took to wing,
oh what scandal they had to tell

I wear this second skin
writing secretly
in the jaws of night.

Reticent thoughts
shyly accumulate in ink
unravel and take flight.

Though to others
they may be worthless
void of craft and lack insight.

Each one is a delicate
Part of me
I have the right to write.

No one's gonna come

looking for you under a rock

don't have
such luck
                       wishful waiting won't pick
                you up
for someone to love
you give them something to love
        if you always hide away
                     no one will know what you got
Think it's time to shake
                           up
this place


                           paint yourself
fill up the space
might go against
      every ounce
of your self worth
but
                   if what your worth
               is worth it

                                     GIVE IT
a chance.

           Blind them all.

Shallow pools
so still
filled with dripped dreams
long decayed.
Fearful whispered words
will echo under their weight.
Because not every circus has
a drunken clown,
nor revolution a song
and not every scream means
something is wrong.
It's a reticent forgotten poem
existing in an amorphic state.

She gathers up the lost dreams
the old and the broken
the dying and the stolen
neglected and fogotten
then carefully carries them
in a spider spun satchel
takes them to her home in the meadow
where she carefully mends them
till they're strong enough to fly on wings of hope eternal
back to those that most need them.
The ones that have no one
to return to,
return to
live in the wishtree by her garden
and when it's time
they help guide her
to dreams newly lost and broken.

She never once asked why
I keep the twisted rosewood stick
or if it holds significance.
Or why Flann O'Brien's
"At swim two birds." has a place
by itself on the shelf.
She never understood my love
of jazz, metal or classical music
or wondered why
Hieronymus Bosch and Caravaggio prints
are in the hall.
She once said I should get rid of them all
"They don't match the décor."
She never understood the humour
of Leonard Cohen,
nor appreciate the raw beauty
of a Bukowski poem;
claimed they were just ***** old men.
She couldn't fathom why
I am drawn to decrepit ruins
or could spend hours just walking
without a destination.
She never will comprehend my love
for the ghostly hue of twilight.

She plays "Misty"
for me
slowly
drifting into its veil
merging with waves
of minors and major-7s.
The passion of her
closed eyes
swoop and rise of brow
gentle sway
mouthing notes
playing from memory
lost in its depths
as I am in hers,

".....look at me..."

She sleeps
I'm outside under the eaves sheltering little from the rain
smoking late into the a.m. wide awake,
coffee for company and her scent
clinging to my skin.
There's isolated bouts of traffic  
late night revellers
returning
shadows
there to witness between
lamplight neons,
but I'm cocooned away
restless in the washes of rain
thinking of one in slumber within
the walls on which I lean

Beyond the passion of colour
the wind is crawling over trees
clawing at loose clothing
and things
not tethered or secure.
Beyond empathic words uttered
it sings hollow
and then a full
roar
settling its breath
to a sigh as it dies
beyond the texture it brings.
With nothing to mark
its existance except thee.

Sorrowful wilting petals
those eyes;
bleeding wounded emotions
through the glistening of tears.
Could I evoke hope
for one sitting alone
siphoning reason
from crushed remains
of what's left from what's not right?
Is solitude the only healing grace
time perscribes?
Heavy pleading eyes
searching for where it all went wrong.
Should I approach this stranger
or leave one alone?

In a cafe sitting quite
wondering how tired
the waitress's smile is
as she shifts a slinky pivot
around tables
a routine on autopilot.
There's a tattoo shreak of violet
on her wrist.
Last night purged brightly from regretful mists:
Sprawl of limb
hinge and ******
flesh contorts
then erupts.
I read her script
she knew my score
rebound *** nothing more...
I think.
am sure.
...aint I?

She skirts a dirge
skimming dregs
of a memory.
Keeping to shallow,
bearable,
remnant depths.
Sapient steps
with vigilance she threads.
She'd drown
if submerged.

The sky gifts the ocean raindrop kisses, embraces it with shimmering sunlight upon its ripples.
The ocean returns its love
with affectionate reflections
assuring the sky of where its heart is.

Birds are singing a cappella
a lullaby
for your wilting light.
Drowsy flowers drooping
to doze
safely in petal folds.
Yawning colours are waning soft
in twlight's faded hue.
Night will come soon
to watch over you.
Sleep well my dear day.

Dreaming of slow dancing
bodies close
eyes closed
arms wrapped round shoulders
hands hooked on nape resting: hers.
on waistline lower back nesting: mine.
Cheek to cheek
calm inhale
perfumed skin
scented hair.
Lips a whisper breath from ear.
Torsos easy sway.  
Pulses vibrate
and beat.
To risk a kiss could ruin this.
I love this song.

Slowly dressing.
Silently regretting
this parting of bodies
our hearts and minds have broken up.

Tastes, scents, movement and touch;
contours, fluids, warmth and such.
Our bodies knew best
every stroke, kiss and caress.
At least they said their goodbyes
with fondness
far better than you and I.

Slowly reading
allowing
       pronunciation
to roll,
tighten
and fold      
                    a whispering tongue
orripplelipspucker and smack stretching jaw       and morphing mouth,
  tongue to teeth,
placid cheek and fading
                             hushhhhhhhh.

He was too young
to have such an old man's cough,
rasping and wheezing rough
grinding each breath
like a motor clogged with rust,
He lit another cigarette all the same
Chugging along the street:
a slow rolling steam train
soon swallowed and lost
by a tunnel of pedestrians.

Although they've antenna
I swear this snail fixed me with a look
that said,"listen buddy, you think you have it rough.
You don't know the half of it.
Now put me down, you're holding me up."

Snapdragon prints on a summer cotton dress
Your body gave them vibrance when you danced,
your laughter gave the petals sweet fragrance,
your bouquet
a shroud of decadence.

Vision obscured by soft misty rain dampening harsh city lights
spilling slippery from storefronts and traffic train
shimmering upon pavements
between steps and stains.
soft misty rain
don't I know you?

So happy I could run
just to keep up with my dreams,
Teaseing gravity with each foot spring,
knowing I could leap to the clouds
if I wanted to.
But then i'd have to leave the world where you walk and lay down,
So I stay as close to you as distance will allow.
Is each drop of dew
the
residue of the wakeful night missing you
while you sleep,
is the horizon line the eyelid of dawn creeping open just to look at you?
I'm so happy I could run because the touch of earth confims you are real,
like a pinch for confirmation or a kick from a mule.

Welts on my hands
knuckles cut raw
back is aching
can't work no more.
Been thinking of this
losing a fight with that.
Wish I had a million
or a cowboy hat.
Cast my nets
caught nothing to eat.
I'd place my bets,
but the odds are too steep.

But when I see you
all pain disappears
can't imagine anyone else
beside me in my older years.
You're a priceless love
my buckaroo.
I never feel hugry
when I can feast on you.
I've nothing to risk
since I won your hand.
But when you're not near
I'm a lost useless man,
so I am.

Russet leaves bid me farewell
a crooked smile from an old silent friend,
'time to go. I'll never see you again.'
Laments a dirge breath of wind
guiding them to a definitive
end.

Somber swings
a dismal edged guillotine
Severing possibility.
t's a bitter sharp taste to a dream
when prospects are soured by reality

Caught the tailend chimes of their laughter pealing through the corridor.
I stopped to listen at the gaiety
without a thought of its source,
simply enjoying echoes
of merriment.
It's contagiousness brought me a smile
gladdened to go unnoticed as a witness
happy to ignore its origin
sometimes it's enough
to know loved ones are enjoying themselves.