rooted into 60s soil
I arrived in the winter
was it my placenta
or did it belong to my mother
either way it was returned to the earth
discarded like so much *******
I have heard its edible
but that would be like eating myself
or eating part of mother

this is the invite
another place

so I skip through
meadows

escaped
on a seesaw

Swings
middle of a night

found
twenty years later

Free in a wood
wood of freedom

and discovered love
beating in hearts

inside is fantastically
amazing
beyond poetry

I have a rocket to catch in the morning;
Do they breathalyse astronauts these days?

some feelings can encase you in molasses
hardly able to move
unable to get a true understanding of what you feel
and why
you seem sunk in quicksand, below the surface
destined to forever be caught in some inexplicable cosmic trap
where the freedom of your heart is a forlorn dream.
But take comfort, there is a way out,
and it arrives at a time you least expect
its the deep healing that comes from knowing yourself
a light shining into the depths.

bronze statues sit along the fence
singing through multi-coloured-
feathers and beautiful beaks
they mimic others song putting-
a twist of their own into the mix
they take off from their plinth
massed air acrobatics in sync
one bird with a thousand wings

To plant a tree
Not for me;
But a remembrance
of us.
For Birds to nest;
rest their wings.

Shedding todays like a snake sheds its skins
slithering in and out of dreams and nightmares
eyes blue beneath old unwanted yesterdays
I will dance like the Cobra to your flute
and strike and strike until a poets voice sings
heard aloud in the deep depth of Mankind
where a sister and brother may meet equal
in the celestial pureness of forever and ever,

A certain rosiness has returned
the Sea some sky blue
Hues borrowed from summer
long gone and forgotten
Memories coloured with light
bright with long promise
etched into the faces of winter
a reminder the Sun is coming.

Children zip zap zoom
full of running jumping twirling
ducking dip down spin hide jump out
shout laugh giggle
and start all over again....

the reason to wake is to kiss the day
and be kissed back awake
by the fineness of the thinking mind
and a heart so big it breaks
on the shores of everyday madness
she bleeds a little tear and rushes
to set right the wrongs of mankind
kissing a wound here and there and here again
she wakes to a brand new day

a letter arrived today
from Hope, my eight year old niece.
Hope asks how I am, about the weather.
She talks of Lego and new curtains
with cushions to match,
which she says she does not like,
calls them too grannie-fied .
She did some colourful artwork;
a pizza slice, rainbow, butterfly
and a big smiley face ,
all on the outside leaf,
things no doubt she likes.
No talk of fairies,
this time,
maybe that has now all gone.

intuition runs up and down your core
a whispered knowing deep
planted there before the beginning of time
a wand to wave, magic carpet ride
there are things that just are
and there is no getting away from them.

seeking poetry of today
where no poetry can be found
will take deeper mining
Industrial machinery
maybe even controversial Fracking

you would think politicians rule the world,
but they only rule the world they move in;
their sponsors, believers, movers and
shakers.
But the real World is a mountain,
a place of wildlife, a river and ocean.
Ice and amazing sky art.
The World is a shared breath of free fresh air, cold
on your skin, warmth on a summers day.
Wild flowers, and the love of a rose for a
Bee.
The World is not for sale, and all those
that think otherwise, are deluded, mad,
and trying to sell and buy insanity.

I cannot help but give out a
"HOT CHILLI"
Dance! in a different time zone!!

when you have bequeathed wings to your friends
they will always fly
but will remember who it was gave them flight

daydreaming is getting stronger
one of the unsung heroes
in every ones life

Engine is cooled
but ready
Tuned up
a full tank
Adrenaline

Once the poem has flown its nest
you have no right to chain it up.
You gave it freedom from all slavery
the very moment of its birth.

We have a machine that can do that
the "twenty first century refrain" moving outwards into the void all mechanic digital robotics leaving the creator in dusty memory banks
filed under Obsolete:"Human"

born out the darkness of the womb
we left our world behind
to re-enter the earth 6ft down
  for our spirits re-birth

Time long past to cuddle another
us Viking warriors long past drunk
a pillow to rest the head and sleep
for centuries or a week or another

heading at a snails pace
on toward
the final deadline
one heart beat after
heart beat
scary and fascinating
one day will come
when I leave this heart behind

touched with words
what a privilege
and a certain responsibility

the temptation to leave your Hermitage can be immense
But once the decision is made- to stay
Peace permeates your soul
and your bones reinvigorate
finding a new strength in their skin

starlings like left-over chicken curry
maybe they have connections in India
or they are just used to my cooking

Some days you can write your socks off
and it never gets as easy as this;
You stopped wearing socks a long time ago
as a waste of time.
When the mania of writing first took hold.

So many hoops to jump through and you are only 9 years old
already you ask me," was I any good at maths", and I tell you that I found it hard to connect what was being taught at school to everyday life, and this you agreed with, and you are only 9 years old. And you have years of being taught what you consider as being completely irrelevant to your world, so many hoops to jump through, and your only 9 years old, unless your teachers have the imagination to apply what is taught in the classroom to the world outside the classroom , but I advise you not to hold your breath, you are only 9 years old, only 9 years old.

Visiting half remembered foreign parts
where everything is the same
and everything has changed all at once
you realise that you are the only foreigner.
Its in the way you are, the way you talk,
the way you refuse to blend in, your mind-
half a world away, sleeping under different Stars

the inner communication
******
automatic adjustments
happen all the time

Ah and then there is the mind
co-ordinating
an orchestra and ballet
all with wills of their own

curled over and dead
this years growth
goes back to the soil

but something remains
something sowed
something reaped

this torch that burns so slowly
and yet I looked and ten years
had been fuel so often wasted
the gaps of going backwards
filling need to progress and grow
this torch still burning so slowly
burns so fast when decades
come and go come and go....
come and go come and go.

I caught the woman who fell to earth
in a net for butterflies
kept her in a jar
fascinated
I couldn't get her diet right
so I had to let her go
I think she hitched a lift down the freeway
with a hippy called Chris
dressed in sandals and a tie dye tee-shirt

Many make up the festival
so many warm hearted

Who would deny a place
to the hot fire
of the hash fudge maker

bobbing white sail across horizons
summertime travelling on
to new long day tomorrows
evenings stretching-out
Sunsets mingle with  Sunrise
on this seamless summer
Wind and sea calm enough
for white sail and dreamer

the Mexican wave affects us all
whether we join in or not

the summer has shifted here
all because someone sneezed.

To travel the Human road
a road trip into your humanity
more fully engaged, in relation
conversation of hitch hikers
a poets ways of expression.

you brought a Christmas tree in from the cold
like giving a homeless wanderer shelter
dressed the tree in your finest decorations
and hung festive chocolates on its branches.

Your photos gave me inspiration
warming me to the theme of Christmas
and the love at the centre of everything
came to mind due to your efforts.

skin and plastic
tap  plastic
finger fleshy finger

robots are now
there is
no other future

one appreciation
equals one book bought

and how many books would sell in a day

under the heading
obscure unpublished poetry

Walls of wind batter the house
Its that time oclock
Bullet rain keep all inside:
willing prisoners.
And all one can feel is cold
with a sense of not really taking part in life
just a waiting for better days,
everyone and everything your teacher;
you a pupil who knows nothing and
needs to learn a lot.
The Evergreens, how do they do it?
some special chemistry the alchemy
of which is beyond thinking about
and reasons? who knows.
Until you bring God into the equation all is futile
And means nothing and then
one has to admit one knows even less.
Good enough or should enough  are not valid questions
And no answers are forthcoming.
All is dead or dying except the Evergreens
who welcome the wind and bullet rain
as their brothers and sisters.

wet ink is a constant river
weaved with octopus fingers
running back home to the sea
salt water drinks your poetry
a small song riding her waves.

measuring up is self defeating nonsense
so relax, be yourself

hours of spaces coloured green
finger tips to feel with
eyes empty of sleep
looking outward dreamy
wake up all noises
this oldering body hurts to live in
each breath a sandstorm of smoking
every decision a mockery

doors, so many doors
and sometimes no door at all
Jim Morrison and the band of Doors'
doors sounds so other than a door
how many doors have slammed shut
how many doors still to open
doors, doors, doors, doors, doors, doors

Red rolls the sky.
White flashes of anger;
Deep deep throated rumble
Shaking water;
Throwing it down
with the force of
thousands
pent up tantrums;
Months of silence.

If the grass is greener over there
I become a stubborn mole
and dig deeper here

Frozen dreams frosted
white with snow

To be unwrapped in spring
emerge from hibernation

The warmth of blankets
winters many coloured heavy cosy layers

A programme on T.V.
keeps repeating
"THE MAN WITH TEN STONE TESTICLES".

If anyone came round with the video.
Pass.