"the eyes have it"
but they don't - -
blanker darkness,
glassy, stare of
fish no longer
able to breathe;
those eyes had it,
perhaps they did,
but now no more

by day their light is hidden
by night they dance about
brilliant, constellated move-
ment; choreographed magic
within a holding firmament,
wider than a galaxy unfurling
small as a palm-held device

Monday morning
distant yawning
scurrilous deceit
sweet as coffee
promising smiles
autographed with
stained teeth and
coffee breath that
lingers under sheen
of oral care products
ghosts of Sunday's
weekend ebbing

it's not difficult to be
fatalistic and defeatist
when by our nature, we
look up from techno stupor
and connect proverbial dots
but also rises within, instinct
to stand up for what is right and
fight, moreso, if our toes are under
those of Goliath on a smug campaign
in an obviously uneven playing field

from scared to scarred
stepping out into light
crossing over to over
there without looking
back again to second
thoughts is freeing of
both thought and that
paralysing fear from
some deep down spot
bruised again & again
it's a fair exchange to
be wounded, wound
up, trading on briskly
before markets crash-
nothing's ever fair or
much less given free

remember those days when you
had to shout it from the rooftops,
or use spray paint, or car in river;
hard to, when now we type it up
on the walls of our social media
each one, vying in digital swirl
each thought, each feeling, sent
out to dry in a momentary heat,
then move on, unfulfilled, to the
next tab, the next flickering page

everyone wants a slice
of the pie, every single one
and only a few do or can;
for most it's pie in the sky
a minority majority have
for centuries kept this so
now we're told that pie
is not quite good for us
our buckets are empty
'til the day that we die

watch and see
what happens
when we drink
waters of denial

a dollop of selsun blue
brought back memories of you
as did the last drops of clairol essence
bring back herbal scents on nanna's hair
water washes clean stray thoughts
and even with its ebbing, fading moon
late night, this year is still new

a queen of not so long ago
said to a queen of yesterday
move aside, you're in my way
to which she swished her train
the other stood as frozen rain
and neither did a foothold gain

for love steadfast and true
as a plum tree that blooms
in winter, will wait for you

several thousand feet
high above but nowhere
to land from a vantage
leased by fresh steam;
floating then plummet
now, no more free fall
no pull on the ripcord,
no tug; pulled the plug
- - life support flatlines
are vacuums really void
when you're stuck in one?

snares and high hats
toms and bass boom
percussive solo now
bursting through as
these shoes carry a
wracked form ever
closer to your door
petals unhinge and
freefall, knuckles
pale knock knocking
deafening drumbeats
roar, tsunami  r o a r
drmsticks hit th'floor

make it quick
like a guillotine
quick, give them
cake, all of them
'fore it's too late
no time left now

seek to be bold,
extend kindness,
on the other side
of whatever this

may be; out there
someone loves you
it's soppier than
honey or gloop

but yours alone
and you flick the
switch at night
every lights-out

sitting 'round a ***** living room
getting acquainted with once and
future strangers, pretending life
will thrive from the loam of potted
imaginings of who we hope them
to be, both inside and out; much
like fruit smells and feels when
they are ripe for the picking - oft
served thereafter on a table wide
with anticipation and mirth, down
to the last napkin ring & teaspoon

judases a-plenty
pre-eminence of
bling and money
loyalty and love
are mere memes
and fancy quotes
while caring is
learned by rote
'like my selfies'
make egos bloat
each and every
backyard's busy,
shipyards prissy
along winding
river building
boats to float

paisley prints on
sunflower smiles
sitting alongside
a leopard that so

happily munched
on grated parsley
paw in hand now
waiting on the sand

for flying fish to skip
on cobalt banners as
lazy summer breezes
pan-flute recollections

on this Iberian coast--
if you don't get it, still
just ask your BFF, for
they most surely will

valid until
use-by date
be wary of
expiry, see
not all things
rely on fate
best-by flies
so go forth:
'gather roses
while ye may'

we can't be giving in
too much, too soon
but can we complain?

we've nothing left in
between to hold onto
that last mistletoe is

withered and fallen;
what remains here
won't buy us yesterday

incidents create first responders
after which a triage is formed
to face each and every situation
until equilibrium & well being
is achieved & allowed to thrive;

in this case though, we witness
a modicum of putting together
again of Humptied impossibles,
our site Dumptied once forever;
where are all the horses & men?

at it's culmination
a ritual knocking
on a sealed door

scream silently
muffled pulses
drum ribcage

shushed and
sighing fade
out & away

flattened
dismal
core*

○●°
°•
•

these words flow
fluid as cheap wine
crisply coloured as
any branded vintage

easy on worn pockets
dulls minds equally;
after several goblets
it all tastes the same

easy as **** to access
so go roses and petals
though they vary in look
are always same in smell

you wrapped up all seasons in one
and fashioned so much more;
you brought smiles & tears & shudders,
caused hardest rock to melt
like snow on budding sunrise morns:
never feigning affection nor admitting defeat;
no longer wielding, finally yielding
a refrain that tomorrow shan't repeat
perhaps then, only in reminiscent
sighing balladeers shall ink and sing
of moments you so easily forgot

high upon august rocky crags
parapets against blazing skies
resonate with sparkling ease
when these earthly travels cease
hear its revelation in the breeze
while in heaven, revelries
will garland eternal peace

it's not like these
feelings are sitting
alone in an otherwise
empty refrigerator
nowhere else to go
waiting for a random
wanton wounding
surely, surely it'd
hurt just the same

how many farewells
will it take to matter
less than this burning
shall warm wherever
tomorrow may takes us

it was fun while it lasted
and perhaps will again be
if only we find us gifted
with another opportunity

red letter month
written on the cloud
an end to an end
now our sorrow send
death be not proud
red littered month

it has finally arrived;
the belly of night
no longer offers
dark mysteries
or mortal fright

and these million
scurrying thoughts
scour grappling mind
with a deafening march
leaving caution behind

will it ever be noticed
that hectare upon hectare
of grain fields pliantly line

countrysides in every nation;

but alas, they are only too often
overlooked... to far too many,
one field is much like the next...

people's cupboards and fridges
tell a curious tale of everything
some a cluttered obstacle course
others an impenetrable rainforest
some coyly veiling their secrets
others flamboyantly revealing
mysteries both shallow and deep
behind doors their treasures keep

mind and thought are not the least bit important, once free,
they only find meaning and usefulness when they are taken in and received
by those of whom these words have brought pain and joy and fear;
as a parched land holds less water:
moist terrains host more aqueous bodies

'There are some wonderful
poetic lines that flow here,' they said;
'but if it's meaning eludes you,
then mark this poem on form alone, and say:

"a lot of modern poets jumble words together
leaving out much of meaning, without
allowing the poem to be read, and understood  
by the readers' searching minds."'

how contrary to other poems--
to be read and understood without
challenge or mystery or fun, meaning
just falls open like your daily news broadcast


let us then consider the difference
between biology and romance
whose meaning lay hidden
within the myriad of applied sugar
as with the case biology in contrast with romance;
if poems where to fall open 'wearing its meaning
on its proverbial sleeve, ' at every instance, then
we'd all best summarily dismiss, on the basis of
'word jumbling' and 'lack of meaning,' denigrating
of 'modern poems' as inadequate to explain or resolve
the issue of not having understood a piece of verse;

there are distinct moments when verse necessitates
more than a standard run of the mill 'fair go' for
it's splendour and depth to unfurl and take wing.

-not a prayer left
to utter and meet
dire needs make
us aware of power
that is not there;
a surprise in grace
that opens a face

perhaps there is
something in sun-
lit raindrops that
waken seeds in beds
of loam, maybe more
than gardeners' care
or fertiliser's flair

for many a thing
we would often stay
a few others would
most likely detour
then lead us astray

for many a deed
are flowers after
a funeral march or a
get-away drive during
an explosive discharge

should we go and
leave behind, our
trophies and triumphs past
what's left's an orange rind
and a lonely sail-less mast

shadowy sheets cover,
dark shining lips purse;
pointy ears ***** skyward
as corn stalks pondered
chanting scarecrows curse
in a sea of dreams left over

blood-skies, day or night
heavens speaking
loud and bright
rainbows chasing
dreams take flight
yesterday's flailings
now out of sight

You would have died some time ago,
and several times over, since;
lost upon yourself, your day of birth:
as well as of the reason to be born.

In a gruelling process of ascent,
there upon this ever wearying rut;
mind and heart raised white flags,
leaving behind an ill-worn tune.

Perhaps it explains this spectral jaunt;
of faded jeans and dog-eared books,
as faint lip balm fragrance dissipates,
your erstwhile existence from us torn.

funny faces one and all
each one standing ever tall
'til Dawn drops Night's shawl

and red birds begin to call
then senses start to brawl
'til all negotiations stall

making all skin tones crawl
and each one feeling small
funny phases, one and all

it clings to vacated cup's base
icy drink's very last drop

bottoms up, not a chance
to partake of love's libation

had there been other chances
of a remix or extended version;

not a coin left but pocket lint, in
an ever-growing emptying space

was it grafted interference
or was it redolent curse;
all this time, scraping moss
across unguerneyed pavers

each exercise a shocker
grating petitions scour the air;
a dragging fence-gate
badly in need of repair

on either side, stand on a lean
dripping candles and wilting flowers;
suited sentinels vacuum
a freshly emptied hearse

atypical,
in conclusive
      after conviction
once enough--
all-sufficiency
independent of
popular priorities

is to Be or Not
perhaps apart  
from partying
to debaucheries

atypical
               this love
begottenness from above
alights anew, like a dove
heaven-sourced repatriation
     vile, in estimation
clouded vision, rejected
by inutile estimation

until a singular day
glistens in the sky

put on your headphones and  listen

the early worm escapes the bird*

(and why not? the tortoise won
its race against a speedy hare)

what have you done?
giving voice to silence,
wings to unspoken thoughts,
face to emotions deeply masked;
solid darkness now made bright
where unuttered words take flight
making them no longer alone.

for despite obstacles
or stacked-up odds
we must forge a path,
relentlessly represent
and trek what's ahead,
what's yet to be explored

revolutions of the second hand
are innumerable to a watchful eye,
which is no comfort to this bruising

...shame

nor can heart's run far enough away
from pulsing, cancerous gangrene;
so off to the darkest mile it treads

...softly

sifts into the cooling of a fading day,
a gentle crushing blow fixes completely
these drowning, despondent smiles

...of yesterday

where wafting wavelets wail forlornly,
while whispering affections, once silent;
hearkening back to more innocent times

...found wanting

The reason for our articulation
is simple and utilitarian-
we do not seek perfection,
But we seek an ablution.

Perfection is reserved for those
with time to spend and money to burn.
Our soul require absolute release,
its ransom necessitates recompense:

Expiated expeditiously, in a flurry
of words that scathe our every thought.