For late, in the small hours,
An open-topped bus grumbled to a halt
Along my road.
Grumbled me to the window.

And out stepped a rolling man,
Head to toe in bright orange,
With a bowler hat to match,
Who waved his hands with stories
To the driver
Before taking a bow and swaying left to right
Round the corner.

It struck me;
The excitable giggle bubbling,
Tickling my chest,
That I had a secret:
I, alone, had a a beautiful gem
Of happiness.

And, too, how alone my treasure sits.
For who would and could
Share my silly, see-saw joy.

Not one other soul
Would sleep with bright orange smiles.

From the painter
To the painted.
The colours are lined up, but only leave stains on the side.
You, the prisoner.
You, the warden.
Praying on 'almost' is keeping us unified.

Soaked to the skin as your pride hits the ground,
Shaking your shoulders with every sound.
But it's only courage calling,
And every nerve wants me to run out of its arms.

How many long years
Holding onto your senses?
And hooked on the stories from windows against copper skies.
Kick the cup of hatred
Into the corner,
For in the soft light, I can see hope in your eyes.

And under the dust there are chords from before,
And under my fingers the melody's raw.
It's courage that keeps calling,
And every nerve wants me to run into your arms.

The taste of things to come

works through the space of light,

gently presses the edge of calm,

of delight,

of healing,

until the everyness of stone,

the fullness of sea,

flows from our throats

and floods our hearts

---

The land where I sleep, is the land where I weep
The sounds in my dreams are blood-chilling screams
When I take a snooze, all the goblins and ghouls
Seek out and find my tired haunted mind.

They drive me insane, assaulting my brain
Night after night I'm scared outta my *****
I can never unwind they have twisted with my mind
I try to stay awake for sanity’s sake.

For those wild-eyed horrors are the most evil explorers
Sent from the devil and told to dishevel
Any semblance of normality with the upmost brutality
And leave me in a heap, so afraid of sleep.

I know who to blame, I can tell you his name
And creature quite charming making deals so harming
I sold my soul to Beelzebub, a drunken bet in a pub
I didn’t ask for a lot, just a shiny new yacht.

Well I got my bright vessel but for my soul I must wrestle
When I catch forty winks, The Dark Lord he thinks:
Let’s go play in his head, make him wish he was dead,
And the gamble regret, praying instead for death

Like a poor mouse that, is caught by the cat
I know that I'm trapped but my mind has not snapped
I hear hell is a scorcher so after all of the torture
It’ll be straight down below for eternity I’ll go.

Nightmares I can dismiss, as well as eternity in the abyss
Because He’s done worse already; my boat is moored in a jetty
If you should happen to see it, you will exclaim ‘*******
Oh Satan you’re an awful fellow, that yacht is a most horrible yellow’.

I looked out my window
On a dark April evening
And my heart lifted up.

One
Yellow
*****
Had bloomed.

Had pushed through the dirt without any sun
Had lasted the winter without any care.
The smallest yellow *****
Had bloomed

On its own
And it was ok.
And I was ok.
And we would both be ok.

I guess I’ll never understand
      Why you cry yourself to sleep

Why you look in the mirror
      To see one missing piece

What must I do to help you
      Sleep sound
            When I’m not around...

You are complex, hard to read

But,

You are

perfect

to me.

All the jibs in all the land
The cut of yours is best.
One day I chose a jib for me
And yours outshone the rest.
You said that I could borrow it
If in a bad jib rut,
And I could sail around the world
All jibby in my cut.

~~~