I come out no stronger
when a poem is all over.

come down to earth on broken wing
words gone dry heart bleeding
with me not even making a beginning!

When a poem is done
it tells me
you've not yet begun
not done your part
and still stuck at the start!

I come out no stronger
when a poem is over.

the mind for sometimes hover
falls down with broken wing
words gone dry heart bleeding
with me not even making a beginning!

When a poem is done
it tells me
I'm left undone
mere ink on paper without a soul,
when one more dream of mine you stole.

i am a somewhat simple soul.
i find happiness in most everything,
a glimmer of hope,
a glint of a smile.

i aknowledge the great sadness anger and despair, that is the happy coins opposite bling.
have tossed and lost,
many times.

but now with joy,
i declare these things,
below, today,
are my happy fare:

a lover's kiss brushed across my sleeping brow, a grimy face,
two muddy little hands
and a satisfied grin.
the smell of muffins
baking in a tin.
the rhythmic click, clacking of knitting,
from the nanexxe exuding.
the smile of a gerberer,
the purr of cat,
the flight of ladybird,
the look of my bloke,
in a pork pie hat.

giggling, tickling, wriggling, boys watching cartoons. little girls, in pink tutus
with a lack of poise.
fine art,
a good turn of phrase.
me singing off key,
out of tune,
bass booming,
to my favourite song.
skip-trip dancing, along.

chocolate, coffee,
tea with dear friends.

o me, o my,
my list never ends,
so many things,
on my list,
so many things,
i have missed
but i must begone
to live my list
and wander on.

i find that in my pursuit of happiness i am often tackled by it.....
....that is the joy in this game of life i love

Don’t come to the cemetery at night* Peter Xalxo would say
If you are so inclined make your visits in the day
For often in the evening when exam worries were gone
I would go to the cemetery and sit on some tombstone.

I think boy the ones from the other world make visits at nights
And they would not love to find living souls upon their sights
Why intrude their peaceful home and not leave them there alone
When the time after the sunset they think to exclusively own!

Having said this with a grave face he would lower his voice still low
While on nightly posts at the graves I’ve seen in the dark some glow
And at moonlit nights on duty’s round heard footsteps around me
I would advise boy not to step into at night at the cemetery.

He used to tell more such tales to instill in the boy some fear
But come the next evening and at the cemetery I would reappear
For I loved the moon bathed solitude the trees’ darkened shed
The tranquility of the place in quiet company of the dead!

All said I wouldn’t leave out in this account one truthful fact
Uncle Peter’s stories had some effect some impact
They colored my times at the cemetery spent at nights alone
I seemed to feel they were moving the graves’ marble stone.

Then one night as I was coming out around nine o’clock
To my horror found the gate closed with an iron lock
Bewildered I stood there knowing no other ways to go
When there appeared a shadow heard the voice of Peter Xalxo.

I told you boy not to loiter here not disturb their peace of night
This ground here the dead walks now though beyond your sight
Run home and never come back his voice in whisper talked
Some more words he mumbled before got the gate unlocked.

That night at the dinner table my father told mom this
He was such a good man and a great friend to miss
But God only decides in his garden which flower to pluck
Peter Xalxo died this evening suffered a heart attack.

Gaze away at the iridescent Cemetery sunrise
While harbouring anger
From previous lifetimes
The seeds of petty discontent  bloomed into a field of sorrow
In it lies a path
That meanders through
Tracing the origins of tragedy
And leading back to the womb

Memories of October
When you were highly favoured
Are etched on your skin
Like old scars
Brought back from war

You dissolve in the shadows
Of the light shines upon them all
Always the forgotten

Struck with two little arrows
Is your heart in your hands
Always in your trembling hands

Your resolve wore thin
Safe as houses no more
No longer will you bury yourself
beneath these sins
The flood of aftereffect
Is corroding what remains
When the time comes
I will stand on the gallows
Beside you.

I wonder if
the Moroccan sun
going down
into the Mediterranean
sea(or seemingly so),
noticed us
kissing on the beach
by the tufts of grass?

We cared not,
but went about
our business
as lovers do.

Loud music
from the base camp,
some one sang,
guitar, voices,
silly laughter.

It was quite
some time
ago now;
age has set in,
bones
have become stiff
and ache,
but it was
a good session,
as I recall,
for time-sake.

In No Strange Land

O World invisible, we view thee,
O World intangible, we touch thee,
O World unknowable, we know thee,
Inapprehensible, we clutch thee!

Does the fish soar to find the ocean,
The eagle plunge to find the air -
That we ask of the stars in motion
If they have rumour of thee there?

Not where the wheeling systems darken,
And our benumbed conceiving soars!
The drift of pinions, would be harken,
Beats at our clay-shuttered doors.

The angels keep their ancient places; -
Turn but a stone, and start a wing!
'Tis ye, 'tis your estranged faces,
That miss the many-splendoured thing.

But (when so sad, thou couldst not sadder)
Cry; - and upon thy so sore loss
Shall shine the traffic of Jacob's ladder
Pitched betwixt Heaven and Charing Cross.

Yea, in the night, my soul, my daughter,
Cry, - clinging Heaven by the hems;
And lo, Christ walking on the water
....

The man behind the pen
my, oh my!
He's what you want him to be
his words will take you to the sky

He is strong and alluring
tall, dark, good looking too
leaving you breathless and yearning
wanting so much more, and soon

Strong hands and a solemn face
he too, a little lost inside
guiding the pen with such grace
he's an honest man with pride

Solid arms, darkened by hair
they'd feel so good surrounding me
beautiful eyes holding a look so rare
I'd choose to stay, never to flee

He'd tenderly kiss me and stroke my cheek
promise to protect me forever
I'd gaze into his eyes feeling weak
knowing we'll always be together

A wisp of gray cloud slips by
like a passing doubt.

A fleeting black thought flies
with the shadow of a wasp.

An unfelt feeling of cold fear
seeks warmth through window light.

Striped feral cat creeps too near,
sees red-tailed hawk in flight.

Time spent with toes in sand,
washed by water clear and cold.

Empty thoughts to understand,
one wave comes, another one goes.

r ~ 4/11/14