i sat on the sandy shelf looking out to sea
intensity in the sunshine
set my head spinning
i could smell the sweet scent of the sea
could hear the breaking waves upon the dusty sands
and could feel in my bones the grains of time as they passed
a thousand years sailing ships plying the
beautiful breeze of the golden shore
a thousand lifetimes of men knowing the depth of love for the sea
and in my heart i too heard her calling me
to wrest a life from the living sea
like the ages old conquest of wind and tide
so with a madman i set off in a twenty footer
and as the gulls wheeled overhead we set our lines
with a sea of stars above
a sea of brackish water below
we harvested a bounty overflowing in my grasp
to make market we had to put every inch of sail to the wind
but by the time we reached shore
the madman had cast all our fish back into the sea
saying that they had begged to be set free
a thousand years of sailing ships plying the golden sea
had worn his mind
worry rubbing the bone of his skull
the wild sea had grasped his soul
the wild sea had stolen his soul
now i chase him cross the flemish cap
every sail straining
no life lived so well
as the life of sea and sand

here where i sleep
in the quiet part of deep night
an infinity of thoughts chase me
grasp at them with a childlike wondering
if i could only hold one long enough to understand
if i could peel back the layers of time
and know the madness without surrendering to it
to see without confusion what lay at its root
what truth lay in its foul mouth
what noble beast lay sleeping underneath its stars
i only remember fragments
shaft of moonlight
a steady rain
grey eyes

requiem for the immaterial man
his pauper pockets clean but empty
he stitches his threadbare life with a careful hand
this is the latter half of the twentieth century man
and his well spoken mind sees the writing on the wall
knows the disease of market minded wall street dreamers
and the throw away class of the poor stranded in jails

he watches with dismay the evening news
the tale told of hard times to come
he embraces his family unit with
courage and trepidation
this wife and child are his universe
love for them wells up from the center of his soul

requiem for the immaterial man
he is spread thin and feeling the pressure
but its for his loved ones so he will hang on
but its for the long haul so he will make due

will you please spare him some thought
when you go to the hallowed halls
when the republic calls you to cast your vote
for the fool who will sit in the oval office
for the king billionaire who holds our fate in his lunatic hands

the latter half of the twentieth century man
carrying his lunch in a pale
walks slowly home from his busy workaholic day
the burden on his shoulders plain
but he is a strong man after all
a better man
spare him a thought
for his loved ones

my smile so unlike a vagrant
only wanders the backstreets off her heart
leaning on the lampposts of tenderness
while her storybook temptress casual apparel
lures my pervert tendencies ever onward to
the gates of her pearly pink sweetbox
she leans heavy into that come hither look
she desires dark things that she will never admit to
shes an american girl down to her hello kitty socks
adorable an sweet
***** girl so nasty nice
i take up drawing again
trying to capture my soldiers retreating
after a long night on the battlefield of between the sheets
she nestles in close
as i taste her with my lips
we fall to dreamin
sleep rushes in
i dream of a withering sun
i dream of long ago autumn nights

her heaven interrupted
she waits there by the wooden door
burned into its crispy surface is a poem aimed at her heart
a poem in the form of a image
a graceful piece illustrated to the minds eye
a flowing of words and thought that only
a great painter could put to canvas
it was of a love she knew many years ago
it was a autumn affair
dry leaves had scattered under her soft shoe walk
and the boy had taken her hand and then
had taken her
only to fade into memory by the first frost
the wind chimes in the semi-darkness remind her of that day
sounding clearly like a soft summer song
to her young and vibrant heart
sounding like trumpets hailing the coming
of some grand and great prince
head held high
with the purest of intents
yes those chimes sound so alive to her
brings back so many memories
of her young and willing heart
these many years later
she has only the barest scrap of paper
with his name still legible
faded but bold
bold like he was
like he was
now the years have told their tale
and her eyes loose focus
as her dreams once more turn to those heady days
of her young heart
as she slips into a final slumber
she dreams of him
and the poem song of her love for him

this long hour that she's
refusing to speak to me
we sit in the bedroom
opposite sides
the tv goes unheard in the corner
softly whispering nonsense to itself
like a madman
she is sitting with her perfumes and paints
looking distantly into the mirror
i study her face from across the room
grasping for words i dare not speak
trying for a thought that could resolve
remembering that sometimes its better to let anger alone
but from here she doesn't look angry
she plays with her hair
applies lip gloss
fiddles with things
waiting
i let loose with a softly spoken 'sorry'
she tells me she loves me
what did it all mean
why had there been such angry words
i look for the meanings but left puzzled
sometimes its better to let anger walk its own path
out of its dark woods
her sunshine returns in the coming hours
and we are once again
hand in hand
a glance away from a smile
a kiss away from each other
we make love in the afternoon sunlight
and drift into sleep entangled in each-others arms
lover sweet lover