who does not speak of what their heart is full of;
there is a certain Virginian
whose heart words lift you into joyous rapture

life is a game of poker
sometimes you are all in
folded
just bluffing your way through
waiting for more cards

beneath all smiles a skull grins

teeth together


we will meet

each other


in the finality

of truth


we may well play dice

' Aces over Kings'

Hidden forces are exciting;
depending on your outlook.
Nothing happens by chance;
is a good reason for everything.
That flap of wings;
just might be your freedom.

feasting and fire
empty bellies and the dark

many fears are entertained
when you are tired

ghouls and the undead
phantoms in the night

Man is a child fragile
playing with the black.

soft rain on the window is a very old singing friend
a childhood lullaby waiting to be heard
the circle completed, the reassurance you do not travel alone.

a time of grass-cutting
cutting back too much growth

a memory of freedom
too much constraint

walked away with joy
living with love

the Universe cupping
a child of forever gone.

when moved beyond judgement
your truly free
and no judgement of your fellow Man
can change one iota of who you are.

a child leads holding every ones hand
through it all through it all
and onto life eternal life eternal
bowing low because the door is small
the door is small the door is small
the childs humility leading through it all
through it all through it all
and out the other side the other side

the deepest longing
a way of love

seed planted
watered

slow dawning
sunup

a childs knowing
a childs love.

stored Sunlight lights up your dreamtime
the path through a daydream

songs stored up in your memory
are sung by your heart

a blue sky is an invitation
the blue sea a doorway

the greening of the Earth
a child's promise fulfilled.

others pain can make you squirm
- a bone sticking out at an unnatural angle
a dislocation needing a hard pull back in place
But other stuff has no affect
- blood in all its glorious red dripping globules
forming small streams and puddles
What's your poison , your Achilles Heel

I walked through a thousand stars
swam across centuries of wanting
sat atop the highest mountains
searched my heart aching for love
found you finally holding my hands
looking deeply into my soul reflecting

a musical score
written across a rainbow

with white clouds scudding
bright eyed flash lightening

a murmur of thunder
joining a chorus of Sparrows.

a heart anchored within eternity
the sails of your mind, set
the chosen compass, love.

I get on well with singlets
not so much with married types
children are ok, for awhile anyways
animals too I enjoy, but not keep
yes its a freedom road, not for everyone
and you have to live it, to love it.

obscurity is the path for me
I have travelled it all my life
but did not know it till now.

out of seemingly nowhere
you find yourself
living out a prophesy

far down a road
you have been travelling
the mystery of yourself.

long shadow
dark days
freely abandoned
to love

Re-written history across the brow
all the tense of muscle
now,

I see your smooth passage
the freedom to choose
a chosen road

you stepped one refusal
in front of the other
you did it! Wow!!

Not gold or silver or jewels.

a chair a table a bed.

This King is no Mummified Deity.

I caught a glimpse of your essence
- worked out in a Hollywood makeover.

Walt Disney had us all in our seats-
on a Saturday afternoon.

A cinema full of kids.

one was brought here
and one knows it
for the sake of love

stitched together to live one more time
holding all your innards in

finding a clean page to smear with your blood
this is a poets lot

Time forever turns and another fistful of dreams
I drag out the night. Half remembered, half relived
their messages slowly disintegrating with the day.
I left something of me behind when I climbed out
the night, part of my mind, part of the past, and
an assortment of shady characters one wishes never
to meet again in the flesh. This dreaming has purpose,
and secrets mimicking hopes and fears that rear up
having a life all of their own. A cleansing of the palette,
the blank sheet, to paint the dreams yet to be dreamt.

separation is a myth
a made up story
by a closed imagination.

I think I must be a closet Goth
and its about time
I crawled out the black
- and sang Goth songs
fully dressed up.

the pronouncement of your death
on the lips of the living
probably an overworked doctor
- half asleep standing up

slipped into a body bag
shipped to the morgue
your name tag
tied to one of your big toes

you may well make groans
post mortem
this will be your last attempt
at Gothic spoken poetry.

some want lipstick kisses
red on lips kissed
or could be black
or purple
a lifetime of makeup
a clowns smile.

the sound of man hammering
finds its way across the fields

the lambs bleating
calves frolicking

Seabirds arriving back
from the sea

A cockerel cries out
to the wind

Outer-space news arrives in the eye
at the end of a telescope, but its always old news.
Some news is better than no news when it comes to inter-galactic neighbours, some say.
But we are dealing with a coin toss here, truth be said.

the Daffs are beginning to make their show
they never tire of blooming each new spring
yellow, a colour for Easter, for resurrection..

staying still too long
you become fair game to a fly
their constant testing to see if you are dead yet
- a comfy nest for their maggots.

this all encompassing communion
the unity of the common
reaches the highest sphere of love.

Its hard to know if you chose this
and with each choice you arrived
at a certain place with each footstep
at a place you spied from afar
looking through the glass eye
that sees everything and nothing
in particular, and particular arrived
one moment at a time fulfilling
the hazy predictions in your mind.

Cerebral is not a flavour of ice cream
but I bet if you offered the most venerable professor
a cone of raspberry ripple, on a hot day
-all that mind space would disappear

coming back down to Earth
landing on my two clay feet

soon to realise I had only just begun
this man of dust had a way to go

the searching and the finding
the Spirit and the prayer

a confirmation all along the road
the will of God, the will of a man.

to live fully, life to the full
in all its fullness be awake
to what life communicates

and what does she say?
what does she give?
what does she share?

it can seem that a shared cynicysm
is the way to live life
a recognition in the negative

but i would venture life is a vibrant song
giving freely of itself
a confirmation of love.

The silence of the surrounding hills
sweeps down to our small hamlet
to the shore and out to sea.
We live and move here in deep beauty
eyes are filled with natures bounty
one look is all that's needed. A
confirmation of the life of the soul.

one glance at love
and love holds me fast

the knowledge I have
is uncontainable

this accepting is
a conquering lover

Its all a 'let go' when all is said and done.

the evidence for loss
is in its experience

the letting go
a constant learning

you try, naturally, to ignore time,
you throw a party
and then you throw another

but time waits for no one
to sober up
and invite time back into their lives

our small Islands one road takes you past the graveyard
the place of your future burial
you pass it every time you go to the one shop
and pass it again on the way back.

frozen in the headlights of love

the path of least resistance
can seem the hardest at times;

to allow love free reign-
is a continuous letting go

even though the path be hid
and the way dark

believe child in love
loves joyous responsibility

for you.

the soles of my feet and toes
-hardly ever seen
have carried the rest of me
-over hill and down valley
-around in circles
-and when I lay on cold slab, dead as dead can be
my name tag will be tied to one big toe,
convenient for the mortuary.

I string together meagre fare
words that follow down the days and years
a conversation with a flower
and name the Sun a brother or sister fire
the temperature of my heart burning for love
and with love I write my letter to the Moon
who one night soon will full bloom
like the flower by my back door
a dandylion yellow delight.... never a ****
but a hardy free creature catching the beauty of simple life.

the Hoodie Crows fight and squabble
all over my spaghetti
wait till they ******* sauces