heritage of her long preamble *******
the quick note stencilled on sticky note
seemed not only incomplete but irrational
'plead not the day to the jury of night
its light deceives the dark into seeking
solace for its own death'
her heritage thought troubles the waves
sending its silent after effects spreading across the
waters to which we fled for safe harbour in evening's birth
we swim to shore
and explore nothing but sand on beachhead
and eachothers fumbling in near perfect dark
before dawn could streak the sky
with the golden lances of the sun
as day wrestles the sky from night
contending with eachother
revealing to our new born eyes
the fanfare that light gives the day
she stood on this stage
and did pronounce loudly
entreat the light to forsake the day
join the night
as she and i had
as lovers
then the golden lances of dawn
would be the stems of roses
from one lover to the other

the substance of her eyes
was deeper than the stain of words across her lips
in her eyes you could read the
fairy tales or the romance novella that she was
living moment to moment
the epic taste of beautiful kingdoms fairy princess
in the sparkle of her half spoken smile
the clear lens of passions heat
in her perfumed sweat breaking upon her delicate brow
the high seas and paradise's shores with a strong lover
in the ***** hue of her blushing bride face
the substance of her eye
would tell how far away she is
at any given moment
and today she is
lifetimes and worlds distant in your arms
today she is someone else
with a different life
the substance of her eyes
is one of absence

but it was only the old man
sitting there on the dock
his weathered smile and dancing eyes
when he spoke it was a rough sound
like cadence of seafarers raising sail
in the long rays of summer eve setting sun
off the ancient shores celebrated in song
he spun me a tale of uncharted lands
and beautiful maidens in tropical forests
wild nights in some forgotten port
*** and the dancehall glow in memory
they are the stories shared on the long voyage
they are the smile in this old mans memories
the scent of salt and the rhythm of
the waves breaking on the shore
surround as he weaves his story
with the years flowin like the waves neath the prow
tacking east to a rising sun
it seems like a living breathing dream
as alive as the sea herself
as alive as the sparkling beauty in the memories
of an old man
weaving his tale
by the seaside

there was a desperate plea
from his television face
which is drawn for maximum sorrow
and moderate crowd appeal
i'm sure they had it all on paper somewhere in LA
under the guise of a eight by ten portrait in words
of mad king george
he wanted to be a better man
but his desperate plea went unanswered
by everyone but some little kid in a cowboy outfit
carrying his six shooter and a plastic pony
guess you take whatever salvation gets dealt you way
so the last we saw of him that day
he was sitting on the floor
doing a sock puppet show for the masses
on the dangers of being the king of england
without a crown
she called him a looser
but i asked her to put aide such notions
who better to get acquainted with the heights
than somebody who has fallen to the depths
his blues are tried and true
he wont try and double deal
be trying to hard to prove that he never should have left
and the kid with the plastic pony
turned out to be the next president
cause he knows what horse to back
plastic ponys and kings are all the same anyway
his television face finally got redrawn
for a more sympathetic crowd approval
and soon he will be a celebrated name once again
while id prefer to jut slip back into obscurity
if i could just have a girl to love
and roof over my aching head
but time will tell
cause mad king george is long since
retired to miami

vexed by the solidity of the granular surface
of this rough and tumble dream
i awaken to a forest of sunlight's in a dark world
to my sleep numbed mind
it resembles
the artwork of french revolt era
royal court damsel in distress figurines
dancing with dark-ages statues of plagues death
the starving meet the fed
and they struggle for who leads this dancehall of the marcarbe
burning the ashes of the old worlds dead flames

i look away to find her face
near mine
cut into shadowy sections
i hear within her spoken thoughts
the contortions her life has suffered
at the hands of grey faced strangers known intimately by her
i wish with heart and soul to reach out
and comfort
to remove the burden

the shadows of her face
are reflections of the world as she sees it
she is mesmerized by its ugliness
and she cannot close the door to her past
it lay like her childhoods bedroom
filled with broken teddy bears
and soiled sheets
if i could heal you
if i could even ease your moment
i would trade my living soul to have your smile
you are loved
you are so loved

a lame beggar in the rags of a monk
limps slowly from the effigy of a old world
as it burns with unspoken rages
white smoke from the roof
another chapter of history closed
with too many secrets
too many
but the beggar takes consolation
that she was given a second chance
a dove birthed from flames
here in the dust of the old world
you are loved
you are so loved

forgiven the yesterdays
for all their flaws
for all their hesitations and mistaken paths
see only their progressions through your years
see your growing older
and the solutions easier to think of
but harder to pull off
see the loved faces lost or faded away
and still you wake alone in a cold bed
and still it seems like no-one hears you calling out
no-one understands your shadow's home
forgive all your yesterdays
don't want to keep on down this road
want a new song
want tomorrows not yesterdays

we started out in a
in a parking lot
with no shopping cart
look at us now
appeal to her desperation
for a moment in her sunshine's bravado
she dose not think beyond the moment despite my effort
i drink her in
and she is such sweet nectar
it is thinly disguised that she is no
snowbunny as she pulls herself from my bed
her deep rich tan only flavours my desires
as i pull her back in
her thick musky taste so intoxicating
flawless in her unique beauties
we lounge in the sun's dying breath
and quietly marvel at the skyscape of colours
she places casual hand on my arm
and i catch breath
isn't to be read into
but see that allure inspite
and with that desire lingering plunge slowly back
into her subtle skin
into the long sweet night of her lips
once again i float the rational
shes as smart as sinfully beautiful
but with a quickness
towers of the absurd fall under pretender's preface
she entangles me with the most sinister of **** laughs
and we spend the night deep in eachother again

light as warm wind
she lay a single kiss
like an offering to some lost goddess
of love and fertility
like a prayer that her years were not spent
that she could still be loved
i took her then and there
strong in my passions for her
strong in my desire and loves for her
she tells me i am her shield
but she is my soul
i sink my pen into the heart of this thing
but try as i may i cannot begin
no words contain
i see more in her every day
and marvel at beauties in her
that beguile and ****** my senses
i want her
i love her
the rain has swept past us
and she curls up against me for warmth
and i become drunk with her nearness
there in the deep of the evening
when she looks up into my eyes
and i see how long her road has been
and how much it means to her
to have a man who is more than
just a fleeting whisper
just the proverbial ship passing in the night
i see in her
what she sees in me
true lover

she was
a glutton's for a sadness feast
so i spun her a tale from my years ago
the wooden toy boat
ice bound in the stone fountain's water
trapped in its flight across its own vast sea
the sound of her sailors wrestling the seas
and her captain forever standing lone watch over his beloved craft
all there in absolute detail
the wooden toy boat

the statues of cherubs in perpetual dance look down
on this stranded voyager
from their grey unwashed stone tower
their stone fingers clutching at the hem
of some goddess of the ancient world
as if to plead for some favour of her attentions
for her to free this voyager and give her kind winds
but in this barren winterscape
nothing is without its semblance of shade
and the cherubs were a dangerous jealousy
their childlike eyes forever longing to be grown
forever longing to be free of such cold stone pantomime of life

barren trees are blackened and forlorn against
the frame of a slate grey sky
a few flurry's of snow scatter and dance on descent into
the absolution of their frailty in the eyes of the wakened dreamers
that all such frail things like the promise of dreams
slowly fades with the dreamers tears

the wooden toy boat
carries with it still the images of its makers dream
its proud sail unfurled
and its standard flowing in the crisp breezes
but the child who abandon it here
lay in his room miles distant in mind from
this cast aside toy
dreaming his own dreams of
building great towers from which he
could look down upon the world

the wooden toy boat
its forever seeking of a fabled port
its forever wishing for its safe harbour
i dream of this moment thoughtful of its strange fate
am i the boy moved on to create ever greater towers in the sun
or the toy locked forever in a yesterday's dreamers eye

in the moments just as dawn discovers the sky
and lays a ****** kiss on the ancient alter
of a soft sea's sandy beach
the rain sweeps away the dust from my eyes
washes away the thoughts that long held me to these broken stone halls
and sets my soul
to this candlelight flicker
in the warm tradewinds
that so entice you and leave you in the raptures of her arms
but she is a mysterious song
her tale full of the spice of the east mythology's
full of the heat of passions found at the end of many roads
when all desperations and desires have parted
leaving only the bare soul
leaving only the true words written in your heart
there in the flickering candlelight
in the warm tradewinds heading east
towards Madrid
to her
her words reaches through the tumult of the sea
thick and rich like a wine
and with the velvet softness that only a woman's voice can give
and forgetting yourself
you turn the tiller
setting course for Madrid
and the destiny of roses in flickering candlelight

her mind was as open as the crystal blue sky
but she was lost in the cage of her heart
the one she carries with her
covered with a fine silken golden cloth
the one one  that she has attached jewels to
attached tales of Madrid and the
travels she made as a young girl
it was on one of thouse dusty roads that she found this tale
written on a placard that reads so well
like something Hemingway would have said
that reads like a key to all the closed doors in
any city of the ancient world
forever sealed
by times jewel encrusted hand
by the golden trim left the passing of
thousand pilgrims on the road to divinity
the rain had swept away the tastes of yesterday
and leaving behind a scent to the air like rebirth
like a second chance for this one run filly
all the heads hang low in the humid sun
all the thoughts come to the coming carefree night
but as she steps carefully through the picked fields
carrying her basket of treasures
her soft cotton dress revealing more than it hides
she sings sweetly to me
in a voice only i can hear
of a dusty road near Madrid
of a sweet young girl that she was once
and in her heart still is
i pull aside the golden cloth
and unlock the cage
for some beauty's were never meant to be
captivated by any less than
real love

it was a crisp winters day
the air was sharp and stung like knives
the sun approached me like a brutal man
and flexed his muscle at my weak heart
trying to make me afraid
i tried to insist that he didn't know what he spoke of
but he was as deaf as he was mute
so i left him standing high up in the sky
on his soapbox on the illusions of light
i walked from my boarding house
to the train station
and climbed aboard its warm casket
and falling into the seat i did say to my companion
that i fear this every day existence
she only peered at me from over her tortoise shell glasses
and cursed the sun for his audacity
setting on her dreams without having been realized
she now keeps them in a hatbox
in her mothers closet
a mystical box coved in runes and drawings of unicorns
but the very things that make it magical
makes her afraid that its uncool
i stand aghast at such blind evil in sheep's clothing
and still the cold creeps in through
from neath the door
and i retreat from its touch
like i fall away from the argument
a coward to the songs ending
i go on seeking beginnings
and hide my face from the sun
the sun he crept back to his cold tomb and wept there all night
and try as could to cheer him
he swore from the bottom of his bottle of *****
that he would never again rise
that he would forsake her
and when i asked of whom he spoke
he only whispered that the moon was a lover that could not be easily forsaken
and so i left him there in the vaults of night
with his pools of sorrow gathering into a nor'easter
with his sorrows gathering into a broken ship
for a fool like me to venture forth in
flexed his muscle at my weak heart
and i did go home once again
to hide my face from the sun
i will wait for a spring day

in the deepest of night
when even daylight is half remembered
and resembles to the heart
that of a lover long roaming in some
barely dreamt distant land
i lay with her
and while she slept softly
the notes play slow and soft
like the dark wings of fate herself
comin down the night road to claim your
very soul
come to grab you up out of your
wistful thoughts
a haunting of shadows
that in your state of mind begin to
resemble the loved and lost
you left behind
on your rise to heights
or your fall from grace
this is the song of your winter days
this is the promise in her eyes
a soft and scented binding
that holds you to the moment your in
regardless of your regrets
wine coloured words
that make grease lights and the stage swim
its in the deepest of night
when all the rush and toil of the day
has faded into the majestic night
into that stillness
your lips give birth
to the truth of your mind
leave this place or die
leave her

the road traveled is
often enough written in the eyes
just as the pattern of a leaf may tell the tree
but it will not lay bare to you
what dwells at its root
what you see in another persons eye
is only a reflection
and only you know what lay at the root of that

her fashionable neatness
suffers at the hand of hurried time
but she will not bend in her method
i cannot see into her thoughts
blinded by my own instincts to follow
to meet my woman's desire
just wanting my lover to be happy

we wrestle the sheets in the hot night
with the other woman joining us again
the three of us exploring eachother in hungry wet embrace
seeking the moments when the hot
rush of pleasure leaves you soaked with passions sweat
and waiting for the begin again of
the sweet play of caress and suckle

it is this third woman
whos dark eye i draw you to
for she is well known to me
we have shared a bed before
she is not a bad person
but i know what dwells
at the root of that
a bedroom of appeasing the cravings
of a woman's hidden angers

damnable heresies of the public mouth
spoken with such lack of leisure as to lay to rest
any notion of that we could go home forgiven and rewarded

damnable heresies of the public mouth
it speaks to the common mans basest fears
so to keep it to its brief dance on needle tip
they make us guess at the script of the
publicly performed production

while there it shone with
such dense bright light
to challenge even the sun
in her ancient chariots ride across
the vault of sky
to challenge even the darkest
of leather skinned harlots
whos nightly trek weighs upon them
till their weary eyes shut
and they slip to a dreaming of innocence once again
they dream they are children again
climbing in a world of trees

were it that we were children again
that some shiny trinket
could purchase from the day such
smiles and joys in you
that this darkness would be
forever banished from your life
that you would be reborn
to the warm heart i hold so dear

but it is heresies of the heart to wish such things
and that dear friend is
another poem altogether

the penmanship of her soul
is slanted
and focused on yesterday's sunlight as it fell
through dusty glass to land
in warm silence on the burnished wood
and teacup
the aroma of mint tea
mixed with the subtlest tastes of her perfumed
soft skin
the penmanship of her soul
is slanted
flows over the page of her day
like silk on sandpaper
but her smile endures
even as she decays into the sand
which created her
she writes her thought
on the sunsoaked sky
and that ideal
is one of warm loves
i wait for the time to pass
and somthing to be revealed
but time is a twisted path
and shows nothing of its passing
except the turn of day to night
and so as i fall to sleep
i read between the lines
of the smile in her eyes
and reach for her hand...

her subtleties and jewels
are billboarded for the drawing of crowds
but the faces sketched by the grease lights are not
the kind that such an exquisite artwork of womanhood
like her should bring out on such a soft spring night
so they fold her up and pack her away
careful not to crease her fine linen soul
and place her neatly away in her cedar chest
knowing i will sneak her out later for wine and ballroom dancing
bring her back to the circus of the obscene
just as dawn creeps into the cool crisp sky

a single tear in her eye for her lost teenage years
when she only wanted to rebel a bit
but spent the time posed neatly like a porcelain doll
she was a lifesize lovesick reproduction in technicolour of herself
all thouse years ago
better to have gone away
better to have been a roadside companion
of the weary walkers
than grown old as one of the window decorations of the world
shes there now in the sun faded backdrop to the shopping season
but ill rescue her someday
well live in somerset and sell glass trinkets

her introspection is the short film version
but her poems are the epic novels
of such sweet romance
it sways the most hardened to the tender embrace
to the love of soul to soul kisses

she weaves such a tender tale
but her nights are spent alone
watching a winter moon
cross the summer sky
her hand aching for the hand that once held it
aching for the love that abandon her to this fate
i hope someday to fill that void in her world
wedged between the cardboard cowboy's forever smile
and the caped crusader sleeping off his drinking binge

thief of my calm
this ******* liar loneliness
crawls around this cluttered room
casting pieces of desperation at my heart
and fragments of memory's at my head
thief of my night
it steals away under the bed
waiting for me to try vainly to sleep
while i toss and turn the thief
will come out and haunt me
with thoughts of long lost lovers
with memory's of happier days
the theifs hunger is insatiable
his appetite for the creating of dark souls knows no mercy
i fling my eyes wide and clean the room
trying to leave him no safe place to set shadows
but as i fall exhausted to the chair
the thief's hand slips from underneath and
spills the scent of her perfume to my senses
and i can almost feel her soft skin against my cheek
i cannot bear it
she is gone
and i am left here with
this monster loneliness
this hated vile creature sadness
leave me be
i beg of you

her smile
and tortoise shell glasses
her picture perfect
delicious curves scented by parisian roses
she steps neatly into the bustling room
and with just a hint of a smile
she stops the room cold in it tracks
as all heads turn
and i must stop and smile to myself
even the other girls desire to be in her arms
even they dream for a moment
of dancing in bed tonight
she leans down and places a tender kiss on my cheek
and the room slowly drifts back to its own dreams
she a tender perfection worshipful and giving joys
she sits with me and
her tight jeans are soft and warm under my hand
and i find myself fascinated by
how she fills up my senses in a moment
i make love to her essence on the air
and passionately tenderly kiss her presence so near
to me that it sets me afire
she takes me
as i take her

the lights shut off
one by one
till the world is only moonlight and shadows
and the crowds of humanity withdraw
taking with them tucked in pocket
the echoes of yesterdays
and the quiet promises of today

into this field littered by the passing night
the gypsy's of the street
comb through for the treasured trinkets
and cast coin
passing me without a waiting word
as i sit in the grass by the skeleton of the stage
watching a distant torch flicker in the trees
as the priestess of death makes her bed
among the graves

down by the river
down where she lay me down to ease the fever
where she sat all night
while the grand empire played out its death throes
so near at hand the light of the pillage was bright
and cannon shot rolled like
thunder till  the ugly face of first light
introduced itself like a cruel feildboss
to these pickers of the fruits of wars labours

she had stayed with me till danger had passed
till fevers delirium had parted
from me wearing his skeletal remains and scythe
leaving me shivering in her comforting arms
but as my mind cleared
as the chill fog of war slipped away
i realized i had been
alone all night with naught but the dark
and the burnt skeleton
of my yesterdays
in a cold northern wood

figurine of simplistic beauty's
she lay in the quiet afternoon shade
delicate sculpture of woman's beauty's
fine white lace
and the scent of roses
she lingers on all the senses
like smoky warm rooms of forever sunshine
like an endless caress of a tender lover
she stirs and opens me up to daylight
with just the lightest touch of willing smile
so deep runs the cool spring waters of her heart
and with silken words
cups my heart in her hands
kissing lightly away these troubles that
now are as forgotten as my name
under this earthy goddesses touch
she is the empire of summer
she is the heart of every mans desire
i stand in defense
of this true soft heart
bound by the gentlest kiss upon my cheek
and the sweet thanks of this
figurine of simple beauty's

the sun spreads her delicate wings
and gently taps you on the shoulder
as if to say that the
time has passed where the dearly have departed
leaving their notes of sad tidings
and their mortal skins upon the alters
have gone forward with eyes of open wonder
in search of the epic
in search of the great grand symphony
only to find the tale was spun
by a drunken monkey on a player piano
and now that the little ******* sleepin it off
we are left to our own devices
on this strange stretch of miles broken road
released from the sense of fear of the unknown
the separate faces finally get to speak their mind
all the fair and foul gets to crawl out
but if you can see past the prepared meal of crow
you find that its all about how you
spent or squandered the moments in that 'one' persons arms that
means the most
that's the real meaning and sum to all this
a shadow of regrets
or the warm golden glow of a souls true love
only you know that
only you know
if you travelled all this way
out into this cold night of a world for nothing or not
was that moment in her arms
worth it
yes

this deviant moment
exposed to light of day
unable to mute my words
they tumble out and roll round
like a car full of clowns in the circus
all color and no content
one rolls back to me
gets in my face
eyes red with its irate feelin
puffin on a greasy cigar
it makes all kinds of loud noise in the back of my head
trying to guilt trip me out
keeps me awake half the night

this deviant moment
flows like a charm for him
flows like cheap wine
when the friends are near and dear
price don't come till harsh light of day
face up in the mirror full of denials
full of regrets
full outa steam just shuffle through the moment
knowin that you'll get to the track on time
just gotta get the ole mutt movin
and the dusty road from here to eternity
never seemed so unsteady as it dose today

the deviant moment
was her magical hour
was her moment to shine in the
artificial sun
she had acceptance speechs written
and a dress picked out for her own red carpet stroll
she had studied all the books
and gotta pretty good bead on this whole motherhood thing
gonna name him 'seattle'
its was gonna be her magical moment in
the artificial sun


the deviant moment
was his break from the harsh road
it was his moment to loose himself
and just be
and that nirvana was in her arms
that moment was in beauty of her affections
but the carving in stone don't melt like ice
not freely given
but who can name the price of what its costs to the soul
they can ask but you can never 'plain to em
what the give takes out of you
step to that road be prepared to give up ever lookin back
the deviant moment passed between em
left them both changed
but she never will see it the same as him
shes trapped back there in the one horse mountain town
and hes shining on a sunbaked beach
in the cool cool moonlight
of a southern sun

the deviant moment
leaves us now
with her blanketed in snow
leaves him with regrets like children at your ankles
pulling at your legs ever demanding answers
to questions you never even heard
leaves me with thoughts bout going back to sea
bout sailing till iv lost all memory of this place
and her fondling the hands of time

circular pathways
but some grinning thief
has made off with every aspect
of direction he could pry
off the roadsings
so the soft hand normal Joe's
all just pile up in a corner looking worriedly
at the passing crowds
hoping to catch some mental relief
for their moral delemias
and tickets to ride the soft ride
they are the nine to five crowd
and its hard for them to digest all
this street kid lingo
all this dark of night dumpster dive

she squats in the road to pass gas
and pick her own pocket for its
semblance of change
the hover kings stand round and
keep a wary eye on her proceedings
after all its only natural
they are depending on her for cash flow
but all she has managed so far is to
get tears flowing
she thouse one of thouse break
your hearts over and over kind of faces
she rescues the normal Joe's sends em on their way

the sunbelt in winter
and after all the barnburners
have packed up their stainless steel plastic wear
and formed a caravan of semi's headed ever south
into the industrial lights of miami night
it comes down to people like her
and her very human open hearted approach
to make this day worth living through
its her rough but realistic hopes
that make this day worth believing

i do not need to pry open this
lidless box to see what
thrives in its wet spaces
i do not need to sculpt the words that
sink into the dark waters for them
to find their home
nestled in the plans of the plotter
i only have to place the whimsical laughter on the plate of silver
and let the lesser natures take course or the darkness of empty room take its toll

this lidless box with its dire face
painted to be more friendly
but with bright colours gone dull with the passing years
carried through wicked winter storm
and through gentle spring rain
through all the toils of his life

what can it contain she often wondered
so she dare not
but knew she might mourn her sorrowful choice

could she spin up a misers coin from such a lidless box
and spend it on lush accommodation
with the finest wine
and the hostess with the forever smile
but the pavement under her feet
still feels cold to her soul
so she fears to take such a path

secure in such troubled thoughts
i know the lidless box will be safe
to the end of days
because no-one dare think beyond the consequence
its wet spaces and its dire faces
to the misers coin contained within

the long moment holding her gaze in mine
and the oceans of worlds that passed between us
in just that timeless time
i lay down with her softness next to me
and spent the dark night
with the gentle dove of her heart
the quiet song of her lips
i spent years there in just that timeless time
the hours we spent laughing walking running
in summer meadows and country wood
hand in warm soft hand
for such a dream of timeless time
twenty years on she comes visits me
in my dreams
and i love her once again
for such a sweet timeless time
until the day i close my eyes forever
and i find her again

his blistered claw marks on the tarmac
lead from burning horizon
to the chlorine haze of the motel pool
where she lay in a barren repose
one string of her bikini top lay broken
but the slow pace of events gives no rush to repairs
she simply languidly sips from her ice tea
and bathes in golden sunlight
while he waits his just deserts as her footstool
muttering a shapeless version of complaints
but i see his worried expression
i know that his assassin commentary
under a different name is still a paper thin lie
the world has never known darker places
than the souls of men
and the devices they set to toil in their name
even fates twisted clown must pause
to consider
the weight of his thorny crown
for the eyes of a thousand lost souls
he has influenced are upon him
and you cant negotiate the stain of the past
once it has set
you can only spend your days rubbing
misery into its spreading web
i lean down and slip him a simple note
turn back the page brother
of the inglorious fates
and in these dwindling hours
of our old age
let us forgive our youthful selves of transgression
and as i depart the motel for the last time
i see the blistered claw marks
of his steady decline back to the burning horizon

the hour speaks its tune and the world dances to it
in perpetual movement hand in hand to the eye
through the nameless ages of silent symphony
i wait for its rapid step to pass
on the way through the halls of time

a fool and his mothers milk of
answers for all occasions from the most fashionable of sources
like the distant days enlightenment from a bubble gum wrapper
time slows to a walk as it dawns upon the teacher that all who learn
have not the same measure of thought to consequence

my only thought as this caravan of the soulless passes
is of the eyes peering from 'neith the ragged tarp
the filthy lenses of their vision
carpets my senses with the intensity of the truly mad
not a shed tear blemishes their near perfect in unison laughter
what manner of beast birthed this nightmare of the perverse
what corner of rough madhouse could
be the home to such

the old hour limps through to its finality
and its tune is renewed with the freshly birthed hour
the old hour is buried in the ashes of the new hours burning desires
as seen in her now awake eye
she reaches for me
and pulls me slowly down into her viper kiss
i willing surrender to its poison tastes
for she is young
and willing

the fool having exhausted his mothers milk
of quick fix answers
lays down his defences
and is overrun
weeping the whole time
for his lost paradise
for his lost chance to be the star of his one man show

the smell of pancakes
drifts me into dream
and in the golden sunday morning light
sketches possible futures into the wood floors deep surface
and my eye wanders that thought
as time passes slowly
the girls chat over the days events
and my mind catches edges of dresses
and the soft curve of ankle
as she barefoot's to the grass in the yard
giggling her sweet heart to the summer like december air
placing the tray of treats
just beyond the reach
and entices me to rise  from my writing
and join them in this fare
need your strength for bed baby she teases
and runs her lips along my earlobe
i turn to meet her tender kiss
and taste her strawberry's and cream
taste of her deep waters love
and know that i need search no more
that time passes slowly
but it cannot pass slow enough to hold me
in this wonderful moment
with her presence in my senses
and i regret time for this
for i know it will pass far too soon

apostle of balloons
chases its playful shadow
across the neatly trimmed lawn
revelling in its quick foot
and then stops short of the
pavement
as the balloons laughter heads for the distant sky
apostle of balloon
sits there on the curb
waiting for its joy to return
his eager eye scans
the ever distant sky
but that shadow now lay
entangled in treetop miles distant
trapped by the nature of the world
ever a child's dream
we await the next balloon to entice us upwards
on onwards
chasing dreams
of laughing joys

his unwashed clothes retain
their vibrant colours
'neath the streaks of dirt
he stands facing the rising sun
soaking in with rabid hunger its warm glow
pieces of sunlight through broken cloud
his fingers loose their frail grip
on his bag which tumbles to the soft earth
without a sound
it lay gathering its shadow like desperation
he utters a soft sweet single thought
into the breaking sunlight
heal that which you have left broken far too long
he cannot know if the silence greeting
his words is a denial or affirmation
bear the unbearable
speaking to the wind
he awaits answer
please
please
heal that which you have left broken for far too long
even the lowest creature
from time to time must shine
within the graces of
she walks up to him quietly as to not disturb
and begins to sing in a voice soft and low as whispered wind
to sooth his heart upon his sleeve wounded appearance
she had never seen one so close at hand
and studied his form and nature with care to detail
caressing the nature of what she beheld with her clear mind
this is the grace
this is the secret knowledge from ancient text
invisible incantation of old lore
this is the grace he seeks
heal that which...

knowledge awaits is the ticket
they sell you as you pass through
the pearly gates of higher learning
with textbook in hand you pray
that the dream you have isn't as much of
a work of fiction as the history they teach
with your college bound girl
her vanity lay in her turtle frame glasses
she hides behind the foggy lenses of her
casual drugs and meaningful ****** episodes
she grasps the back of your letterman jacket
hoping that you are as surefooted as your propaganda speaks
as you follow the blinding path
of confusions principal and you think to yourself repeatedly
that the truth in the simplest explanation is the actually the most complex
because you make it that with
realizations and rationalizations
through the day to day whittling away
of what you really are
through lying to yourself that
if you stick it out with this false life
one more day it will all be better
that the relationship you are trapped in
will work with you
instead of making every day
an uphill battle to be heard
and loved without tears
sometimes look into her eyes and
see the endless road of escaping her past
and i think that i just want to stop running away
settle down
and be
just simply be
a father, a husband, a lover
happy

joy is transient
but its brief journey is golden to the
hearts eyes
in this place that must suffice for a reason
to remain
some come to bind themselves
to some inglorious fate
so that they may have that one moment
in free fall where they may open up golden wings
held quietly since childhood in hopes one day to shine once again
may once more soar among the clouds
light and free
they come here to sing with the angels of a better nature
or battle with the demons of a dark past
she walks with slow care
placing each step tenderly gathers her voice
and mutters the words in guttural whispers
to the soundtrack of her mad mind
where the ashes of burned cities settle like snow
on the image of a broken landscape she painted in dark watercolours
i came to build temples
out of the streets driftwood faces
the nameless who wash up on distant mystery shores
and leave intricate carvings in the minds scrapbook
that show like a roadmap to one souls journey
my coming to this tropical Christmas
and cardboard cut-out hero sortie into your world
if i could rescue you
i would be there on a sterling english steed
with a loud proclamation
that only the prettiest damsels get fine young dandies
she smiles for my soft approach
as i glide in under her eyes
joy is transient
but its brief journey is golden to the
hearts eyes

in the dim light
her smile is implied
but its warmth is genuine and clear
a talented soul is never marred by the worlds lack of vision
i think if i could sum it all up
all the hopes all the dreams
all the things iv fought so hard to build
  thouse wonderful things as a child i dreamt of
all the magical things that i felt were waiting for me as a young man
i would not be bending the phrase
to say she is perfection
in dreadlocks and patchouli
for thouse who have never had the privilege
real hippie chicks are
all the beauties of summers day
and all joys loving warmth of summers eve
she is wonderful
i love you woman