Oh, I'm being eaten
By a boa constrictor,
A boa constrictor,
A boa constrictor,
I'm being eaten by a boa constrictor,
And I don't like it--one bit.
Well, what do you know?
It's nibblin' my toe.
Oh, gee,
It's up to my knee.
Oh my,
It's up to my thigh.
Oh, fiddle,
It's up to my middle.
Oh, heck,
It's up to my neck.
Oh, dread,
It's upmmmmmmmmmmffffffffff . . .

Oh, I'm being eaten
By a boa constrictor,
A boa constrictor,
A boa constrictor,
I'm being eaten by a boa constrictor,
And I don't like it--one bit.
Well, what do you know?
It's nibblin' my toe.
Oh, gee,
It's up to my knee.
Oh my,
It's up to my thigh.
Oh, fiddle,
It's up to my middle.
Oh, heck,
It's up to my neck.
Oh, dread,
It's upmmmmmmmmmmffffffffff . . .

I say to you,
I grow in your garden 
as you grow in mine.

I grant order and chaos,
no move is yet to play out.

I am All,
all in All....
beginning ending,
beginnings endings.  

Co-creating
in this non-creation,
between blurred lines.
It is there as Humankind you stand..
    
Male and  Female,    
galaxy amid galaxy.

I give you azure for pleasure,  
darkness abides in good measure
beyond this world waits great treasure.

The service I ask of you is short lived and simple..
Love,  love yourself, love one another,  .. just love.
        
I am not away on business
as some would suggest,
I have not forsaken
any of my Creation.

I am always moving in,
always moving out..
forever turning on,
forever turning off.
                
It starts and it ends and it starts again to end again,
Impotence amid Omnipotence, a Mystery never to be solved,
always to live and to die moment by moment.
                
I am beyond your Imagination,
you dwell in my imagination..        
in my image you have your Being.

You will never stand alone,
you are always a part of this dance
in the endless stream of much more.

I carry you
gentley through
soft currents
as well as rocky rapids.

My words to you
do not dwell in a book,
They are alive and bring life.


You were born to create this day,
this Day, the only thing new
under the sun..
Your freedom of will leaves you
to create evil as well as good,
your choice yet not your choice
being forged out of my choice.

There is no light at the end of the tunnel,
you are the Light passing through the tunnel.

You have forgotten who you are,
who you were, who you will be.
Fret not... I come to remind you of the abundance
that is at your fingertips. To help you to turn away
from the notion of scarcity. All you need, you have..

All you will ever need you already have.. you will it to be
At times not knowingly. I am here to move you towards clarity.
You can end the fight bleeding and on the ground
or just not get in the ring... your choice yet again.

Free will is just that..
it is not without consequence.
Ignorance of Universal law is no excuse,
the domino being pushed they tumble  into a future which is here
along side the past, only the moment... infinite.

I watch the blanket breathe,
hope it will never stop.

white, cellular, keeping warm,
the one I love, so vehemently.

scares me, this intensity of feeling,
that never stops,

and continues when the blanket lays quiet……

sbm.

Pillows hold so many secrets.

There's the tear stained nights
and midnight chit chats.
There's whispers of regret
and sleepy heads.

Some turn to pillows from over exaustion
and others toss and turn with insomnia.
Drunken heads that have passed out
and ones that block out the bad with sleep.

Sleep talking, monolouges and bed time storys.
"Dont worry my darling it will all be okay"
Woes are spilt and soaked in
by our trusted pillows.

*If only they could talk, oh the secrets.

When the apostrophe disappears
from ones verse or prose
its plain to see
theres mayhem, and everyones brain is  muddled
I cant make sense of what youre saying
and the judge cant tell if the farm is
Joes or Marys or Philips
or quite literally the pigs own

And of course when it appear’s
in the wrong place’s, it get’s up
everyone’s nerve’s or nose’s;
and it cause’s an identity crisis
between its and it’s;
and its’ like ****’
(thi’s mess’ is’)–
please, please, please -
running down to one’s toe’s

It’s obvious to see
that the apostrophe -
that comma that hangs in the air -
is worth mastering
or may you hang in its stead

You would have loved
Edinburgh Ole
another place
you never got to see

you wanted to go
I know
I could have been
your guide

I know the place
like the back
of my proverbial hand
could have taken you

along Princes Street
taken you up
Scott's Monument
up the narrow stairs

to the top
or in the gardens below
with flowers
and seats

the bushes
or up
the Royal Mile
with all its history

and sights
we could have gone
into the Castle
and viewed

each historical inch
(you would have
dug that all
that silent history

waiting
to be ****** in)
the one 0' clock gun
the view from the top

over all the city
but I can see you now
making your own
way there

(in spirit)
in your own
good time
walking in

your own casual pace
in your Doors tee-shirt
and blue jeans
the dark shades

the hair fresh cropped
short maybe
showing the scars
your smile(great smile)

taking in
a few bars
on the way
breathing in

the smell of beer
and scotch a
small taster
in your silver case

in your back pocket
you standing
on Arthur's Seat
having walked

to the top
(maybe breathless)
and seeing
the horizon

beyond the City's touch
enjoy Ole
make it
when you can

miss you
my son
my Ole
my man.

melancholy music
and strings like water droplets
line my insides
and leak outward
like ten
different kinds of plasma
that no one can interpret