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A gorgeous sunrise
makes me glad for this lifetime,
strikes me stone grateful.




How goes the body friend?
How ticks the mind?
Did you find the Demons wanting?
Is the morning light sublime?
Have you wondered how the Angels sang
When they filled the night with song?
Have you angered with a short fuse burnt
When drivel lasts too long?
Do you long for peaceful moments
Do you loath the clamour, loud
Seek an isolation
From the leather, foul mouthed crowd?
Have you come to terms with silence
As you ponder evening light?
Is equivocation righteous
Or does wrong consume the right?
Are you happy with your yardstick
Do you feel you've played it right
Or is it time to shut the curtain
And surrender to the night?
Dedicated to my old mate, Stevo, laid low and recovering.
15 Jan 2019
Night, the jeweller,
Got me quickly bedazzled;
With the depth and spread!
Dangling red hot sun,
Mellows, finds no better luck;
Ease in to dark sea!

  My woman is the essence of being, she gathers the ruin of the day to offer moonbeams. Her touch, geared to moods of the moment, oscillates between slap and caress.... is always, though, kind, considerate, caring and layered betwixt lavender levels of love.
Mother of my boys, protector of the clan, matriarch and Monarch. My Janet, the very love of my life.
No musk scented air,
Mango trees stand sans flowers;
Angry climate speaks!
Dreamers, my Darling, are Kings of the earth, lost as they are in the clouds,
Conjuring magic from out of the air, weaving  mystical spells through the shrouds.
Shrouds effervescent and writhing with life, mythical movements of mirth
Threaded throughout in intangible weave to render this fabric of Earth.

Dancing in lyrical splashes of waterfall, bubbling in sunshine on stone,
Moss covered igneous softest creation, emerald as crystals of Rome.
Where would thy tread in this vaporous creation, would thou intrude on the scene?
Bursting this bubble of magical splendour would render thee, Sir, as unclean.

Tip toeing through tulips so softly and tender, so sensitive there to the touch
For Dreamers are few viewing grandeur anew….
I remind you, dear Sir, of as much!

17 December 2018
my wife that i love you are sleeping
heat over heat
of my ankle yours ;

the trilling
thrum of
your snore is long

longer than the long night
of unsleepingly my body,

heat under heat

of your body mine.  .  .

i hear occasionally our son
also whose snoring
is small
ll er

than he is
(can you believe?)
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