Did life come here on some cosmic speck?
A single cell inside a shooting star;
I wonder if we travelled far,
before we slid into the bubbling sprawl?
A place hospitable enough
for the stuff from which we're made
to grow and split and split and grow
before - ergo a beak, a stalk, a wink, a squawk,
a carnival of creeping creatures,
each one with its own distinctive features!
So when we pause to comtemplate,
the night sky's pinpricked winking lights,
is the flame that stirs inside
a homesickness for where we came?

true sadness is an echo of the dead
the torso arching shoulders stooped
a premonition of demise

but lie and hold with legs entwined
a cradled head reveals a nape
affection may revive

bodies are a cipher only other bodies read
canvassed touch unlocks a warmth
our spirits need to breathe

I'm sitting on a riverbank
holding the fishing rod
its line resting limply
on the rippled water
no hook, no bait
no float, no weight
I can have no expectations
living beneath a vivid blue sky
boats passing with a glazed stare
the knotty clouds are curious here
circles dance among the reeds
some swirl together all as one
I can have no expectations
when I haven't begun
when I am no one

At night, in the rain,
the wooden wardrobes
crack tight with brittle sounds;
twisting their sympathy,
with the fallen forests. A crowd
of silhouettes waver, as the blind
sharp ****** against the window.
Inching sideways, along the walls,
black shapes, ever watching.
Fear, stretches out,
a downturned hand.

beyond the broken thistles
sits the screech of night
where I have stood
sipping slight lungfuls of pale air
among the booming half won sounds
my ebbing vapour drifting upwards
ever onwards towards the electric sky

a fleeting profile in a passing car
alters the flow
wipes away the high street
spills painted saffron walls
a tangle of warm hair
pressed into a pillow
as courting doves
edge sideways
along the terrace railing
high above the deep blue sea

brush strokes on my window
flecks of white against the grey
the drops of water dripping
from an ocean in the sky

a symphony of drips and plips
accompanies my sighs -
can all the water wash away
the troubles from outside?

drains will gargle up the dark
grey water from the streets
a potion mixed by grinding down
all those lives beneath our feet

the sodden cardboard houses
wrapping hair and flesh inside
soaked by what once gave us life
now made rotten 'til they die

and once the seas have given
up these souls into the skies
the rain will fall back down again
back down again with open eyes

there is no artist painting
crazy pictures on my walls
just a pricking of my conscience
where the gentle water falls