London was blinding and London was bright
the darkness was hidden behind the daylight
In a sardine sea of humanity
there was no you, and there was no me

I saw London last week and I almost cried
I saw London last week and I almost died

The pace was relentless and I could see
no one was happy and no one was free
I was shown the sights of which people speak
I saw lots of things but no mystique

I saw London last week and I almost cried
I saw London last week and I almost died

Multicultural craziness, land of excess
It’s where you can find the best of the best
but the price was too high, too high to pay
and so I only stayed for the day

I spoke to a friend who said he was sad
in spite of all of the things that he had
I saw a man who was broken hopeless and lame
he told me that everything tasted the same

In London last week I almost cried

In existential Christmas angst
we scramble ‘round
up and down hills
spilling into
rivers of remembrance
and regret
wishing for storms
and a blanketing
of bright light white snow
with a warm cold
just before the year returns
to where it came from-
the pseudo place
that no one knows
where every thing manifests
never resting
coming and going at the same time
locking us all
into
an ancient Christmas time rhyme

The inevitable always happens
whether we are black or white
or living south or north
or if we play or fight

Seaweed swims the hemispheres
landing on all shores
throughout the year
from Iceland to the Azores

Sound is sometimes split in two
discriminated sounds are separated
for both the ears of me
and both the ears of you

They call this stereo
and it adds a little to the mix
Most of the time
it sounds just fine

Out of the blue
I found the courage
to drink the wine
and I made a bee-line east

Courage (Haiku)

Bee on blue easel
Dark wind blowing from the east
Wine courage at feast

And what is this which is about to become
a part of my weary world
a shard crashed from an angry hand
smashed on the floor by a girl

wounded by words she alone heard
echos from way down below
spoken by ghosts chained to the past
in the basement where nobody goes

She sees not me but someone else
who hurt her way back then
Things were done, words were said
today she hears them again

I beg her to stay in the salon
to love to laugh and to rest
instead of descending down the stairs
to greet those ancient guests

We peer through pixels
at some ‘thing’ on a screen
We know it’s only show
but it feels as real as a dream

We ride a roller coaster
emotions pop like corn
When mirrors lie
delusions then are born

The site is full of light
bouncing through the air
but the scene that we see
is not really there