Another chance, a new approach
Waiting in the wings for you
Waiting in the wings for you.

What else is waiting there? (x2)
Waiting in the wings for you
Waiting in the wings for you.

So, take your time, enjoy the ride
Waiting in the wings for you
Waiting in the wings for you.

Yeah, enjoy the ride...while you can
Waiting in the wings for you
Waiting in the wings for you.

For you never know
What else is waiting there
Waiting in the wings for you . . . .


Refrain:
Dare you hasten your destiny?
Only to regret your impatience . . . .


What seems to be boredom now
Is simply biding grace time
Waiting in the wings for you.

And that is not so bad at all
Waiting in the wings for you
Waiting in the wings for you.

For you never know
What is waiting there
Waiting in the wings for you.


S T, 30 April 2013

When she was seven, my grandmother suffered from fever and swollen glands. The doctors believed her tonsils were inflamed, that she needed surgery. Instead, she went to a curandera. The curandera divined that a jealous relative had cast a curse on her and, now, her language of kindness was bound to her throat, the unspoken swelling her glands.

As a child my grandmother spoke to santitos with a voice like a chestnut: ruddy and warm, seeds dropping from her mouth. The santitos would take her words into themselves, her voice growing within them like grapevines.

During the tonsillitis, when the words no longer fell like seeds from her lips, the santito's vineyards of accent and voice grew vapid, dry as a parched mouth. They went to her tongue and asked why silence imprisoned the words of the child, why lumps were present under her chin, why tears drew channels down her cheeks.

I asked my grandmother how her tongue replied. After touching my cheek, she told me she had a dream that night: She was within her lungs and she rose like breath through the moist of her throat. She remembered her tonsils swinging before her like fleshy apples, then a hand taking them into a fist, harvesting their sound. She told me her throat opened in two spots like insect eyes and the names of her children came flying through her wounds like peacocks.

Patting my thigh, she said, "That is why the name of your mother is Maria, because she is a prayer, a song of praise to the Holy Mother."
She told me this, then showed me two scars on her throat—tiny scars, like two eyelids stitched closed.


st - 20 mar 14

I learnt to tie my shoes
I learnt to ride my bike
I learnt to smoke
I learnt the vulnerability of fully exposing an idea
I learnt to tie my shoes
I learnt to adapt my behavior in the light of others' actions.
I learnt the difficulty of sustaining the hopes of youth.

I remember a French girl with an English name.
'Leave me now, return tonight,' she told me every morning, and I did.

I remember an English girl with an French name.
We were the circle that no one could break, or so I thought.


Yesterday I was there.
Today I am here.
The two are light years apart.

I dance with a friend,
holding her hand realize,
how disconnected I have become,
from the simple beauty of touch.


I return and sense,
that things are not the same as before,
but feel had I stayed,
everything would likely seem the same.


Your words touch me.
Your thoughts excite me.
I want to try all that.
Explore everything with you.



Alone.
All one.


If and but and maybe and whatever.
I hate those words.


Everything doesn't have to be perfect.
To idealize is also a form of suffering.

                          
                                             ------ by Julian Hibbard



st...26 march 2014

Scrape flakes off the surface
Doesn't matter one whit, or two
No need to hide any unbidden thoughts
The mirror cannot see the back of your mind.*

1.
Come along and take my hand
Fear not the things which tempt you
Come a long way, why dither now?
Lest you lose your taste buds for good.

Let the tale unfold itself for you
And allow fate to break old sequence
So afraid to step outta that mould
To unravel said threads for a while...

2.
Must make you fully understand
Manic moon is on the searing wax again
Making fools slip on magic treachery
Is perdition really all that awaits?

So, please...lie on your side in the mirror
Look at the shapes I want to hold
Touch the petals I ache to crush
You're letting it go.. yes, getting so bold.

Pushing up against you, under your bra
Do you know no-one can see? Look at me.
Try and relax, come on.. please let go
Stop looking around, there's nobody there!

I watch your eyes as I do that thing
That which I tried before but failed
You were in tune with the moment
But found your hand a tad lively.

You let me do some things I want to do
Let my fingers drift around, over mound
I lift you over me, ever-so-slow
Your eyes rail at me, but make no sound.

3.
You kiss the dip below my busy-Apple
Make me collect your embraces in a deep frenzy
Lucid enough to realise, sad to say
That you sometimes end as abrupt as you please.

You tell me things, how I love lappin 'em all up
Your words enter and sit on a shelf in my mind
As on a throne, they beckon to parts of me
And play jolly games of hide-and-seek.

Yet I feel your agitation gripping at your insides
I try again to make you float away with me
But all around, even with eyes pressed shut
Whose critical faces do you see peering at you?

4.
No, the looking glass reflects not the truth
Like a fish pulled backwards, desire drowns thus
Rudely suffocated by refined conflicts
Usurped by typical ideals set impossibly high.

Twisting in my arms, you try to wriggle out
Why, pray tell.. are you fighting me so?
Super-quick, you're on your feet. What the hell... ?
You can be so utterly fierce in your defense!

5.
I am so attracted to you; yet must I depart hence?
You thwart us at every perfect turn, slit us
You clog beautiful efforts at unity
Placing a huge drain on our collective energy.

So, while the mirror may appear a tranquil lake
No-one does see the turmoil swirling below, down
Hard to hide that inescapable spiral of reality
Cannot sustain that persistent eddy, 'tis all done.

Unbeknown to us both, playing at life thus
Nothing new to humanity, yet so petrified
While taking everything so serioso, we forget
Joke's on us: no-one gets out here alive, ******!



Yes, all that remains in the wake of dying embers
Would be those very flakes you tried to dismiss
See? Told you, no need. Came down all its own
And the mirror still cannot see the back of your mind.




S T - 23 sept 2013

At my side the Demon writhes forever,
Swimming around me like impalpable air;
As I breathe, he burns my lungs like fever
And fills me with an eternal guilty desire.


Knowing my love of Art, he snares my senses,
Appearing in woman's most seductive forms,
And, under the sneak's plausible pretenses,
Lips grow accustomed to his lewd love-charms.


He leads me thus, far from the sight of God,
Panting and broken with fatigue into
The wilderness of Ennui, deserted and broad,


And into my bewildered eyes he throws
Visions of festering wounds and filthy clothes,
And all Destruction's ****** retinue.

yonder wave wants to come on in
can't make it go away
try so hard to chase away
steel reserve



1.
don't come cryin' on yo broken shins
who dat talkin' ova der?
yo muvva just ain't home rite now
take ya scraggy bags
and vamoose outta here

pick up dem rings 'round yo trappin' eyes
      and lasso 'em round dat red fin
tackle yo chapped lips
      afore dem ships fall in yo calyx-cracks
quit dat naggin' *****-mouth
      here, have dis apple, ma piggie
and dems eyes o' yours dat shine so brite
       might as well switch off dat lite
hide dem leather-hands dat look like dry branches
      wat, even da desert don't win dis contest
pack dat stupid head in a box
      der ain't nuttin' inside a see-through noggin
hide dem silly hopes under a hevvy sea
      or bury it under da soles of yo crazi hart
take yo blasted treadin' to some udder place
      some dark mine where dey can use yo help
and all dem purty words on pages yo just lurve a-spewin'
      ain't no party here for fools no more


2.
den, der some funny rhydm 'gainst ma door
pushin' dat big wave
pushin' dat big wave
I'm a-pushing back jest as hard
but dat wrestlin' wave jest a-growin'
keeps a-knockin'
always rockin'
gonna come crashin' rite in

ain't no good wishing, ma beloved darlin'
so many fine dreams
running silent
in dem luvverly veins under yo kick-startin' tongue


yah, yonder waves gonna make a breakthrough
some day...
(mebbe)*




S T, 21 augury 2013

The travelling man,
Oh, the travelling man.

1.
Oh, on the journey, he has grown tired
The travelling man is weary of these memories....

The travelling man,
Oh, the travelling man.


Refrain:
The travelling man has folded up his dreams
He keeps them in his pocket with all his other things...
The travelling man,
Oh, the travelling man.


2.
Oh, on the journey, he has grown so tired
The traveling man is carrying all his gems inside.

The travelling man,
Oh, the travelling man.


Bridge:
The rivers he crosses, the mountains he climbs
The roads that he follows, they tell him the ti-i-i-ime!

The travelling man,
Oh, the travelling man.


Refrain 2:
The travelling man has got to travel light
Nobody can guess the longing in his heart.

The travelling man,
Oh, the travelling man.




S T, 04 April 2013

odd word, then
basking..
it overwhelms so...


1.
no easy answer
assuredly, no easy answer


2.
so much of calamity on the shores of light
hardly surprising
poor visibility


3.
if only..
if only......
if ONLY........

oh, if we could step out.. into space
and *really see our beautiful globe
look at the wide oceans make up its ironic three-quarter
its lovely, blue smile
look at the earth in wonder
the earth with no border (nor **** boundary!!)

oh, how humbling

how I fall to knees
at that glorious sight of grace
fills the soul and feeds the core



yet
all I'm left with..
is

basking in glow of uncertain times



star toucher 64..                 4 sept



*(in hope yet.. I persevere sanity prevails us all)

By the time he'd hit eighty, he was something out of Ovid,
his long beak thin and hooked,
                                            the fingers of one hand curled and stiff.
Still, he never flew. Only sat in his lawn chair by the highway,
waving a *** wing at passing cars.


I was a timid kid, easily spooked. And it seemed like touchy gods
were everywhere—in the horns
and roar of diesels, in thunder, wind, tree limbs thrashing
the windows at night.


I was ashamed to be afraid of my grandfather.
But the hair on his ears!
                                    The cackle in his throat!
Then on his birthday, my mother coaxed me into the yard.
I carried the cake with the one tiny candle


and sat it on a towel in the shade.
I tried not to tremble,
but it felt like gods were everywhere—in the grimy clouds
smothering the pine tops, the chainsaw
in Cantrell's woods—everywhere, everywhere,
and from the look of the man
in the lawn chair, he'd ****** one off.

not everybody likes quotes,
but I kinda need the inspiration



I.
'A real friend is one who walks in
when the rest of the world walks out.'
- Walter Winchell (1897-1972), US journalist and author

II.
'In prosperity our friends know us;
in adversity we know our friends.'
- John Churton Collins (1848-1908), English literary critic

III.
'A friend is one who sees through you
and still enjoys the view.'
- Wilma Askinas (1926- ), US author and columnist

IV.
'You are a true friend
We cry through the bad times,
We laugh through the good ...
with happiness and smiles,
with pain and tears,
I know you will be with me
throughout the years.'
- Anon

V.
'Thank you for being a genuine friend ... one who is not afraid to say things, out of love, things that are hard to say and hard to hear but cares enough to speak up.'
- Anon




thank you for all the wise advice you have given me
I wouldn't be where I am today if not for your guidance*




S T, 25 June 2013

I couldn't know you'd need me then!
Just a human with all frailty and much fault....
  
Do you think the wind blows differently
When  it passes over leaves and trees?
That it says: "Wait, lemme stop here a bit
And blow on this one leaf  in a special way"
  
Hardly! Time to get with the manure beneath
And see that sunrays shine on everything
And indiscriminate clouds shimmer on all,
How haphazard, the way the wind blows.
  
So, don't hang your head and moan so much
Time dawns for you to get over yourself
Don't you see that I'm still here?
Now quit getting your knickers in a knot!
  
You rant and rave while I pant and slave
Dissect my every move, make me aloof
How can you possibly go counting
And re-arranging all the marbles in my head?
  
You're so insecure, you make me mad
So exhaustive are your constant jibes
So tiring to soothe your unfounded fears
I'm having to placate you so often of late.
  
Before it all gets blown out of size
Sit a while in  (h)arboured thought
Confront the dreads which cause disquiet
A trove may wash up....but broken, on your shore.
  
The wind comes not with tardy tidings
For it isn't the what you say or do
But forsooth, the how which carries weight
Let's not over-whip each other so.
  
My thoughts may be wanton, wild or reckless
Telling tigs bend on a riotous grind
Yet feckless deeds don't follow suit
Pardon my slightly-misbehaving mind.
  
Patient and respectful, I remain to be
Just guard against esurient whims
Paucity of faith and clockwork trivial'ties
Will lead us down a road of trials.
  
Fallen martyrs should not feign, see
The wind makes no pretense. It just blows....
Now, I really couldn't know you'd need me then
'Cause, baby, that's the way the wind blows!
  

S T, 5 April 13

You're building up a palace
For the world to see
How great you are
But do they know how loud the echo
In your walls.... is outdone
By the echo in your soul?

All pretty things to fill your life
And make you feel so useful
But yet, your day is dark and grey
And you still feel so blue
Oh, the echo in your soul.


Refrain
Why don't you stop....
Why don't you-ooh stop?
And tend your heart
Oh, feed your mind
And fill up your soul, oh
With beauty that
Cannot..... be seen.


It's easier to see your faith by showing
But then you're stuck in a rut
You'd surely nev-er-er leave
Outdone by the echo in your soul
The echo in your life
The echo in your smile
Oh, the echo-oh.... in your words.

It's harder for you to totally live your truth
For, it's not how you LOOK, but HOW you look
Take off the trappings and reveal
And see who you really are
See what you really are
See what you have become!

And now you're feeling all alone in a crowded room
You try to sound intelligent yet make no sense
Your stilted humour is outdone
By the echo-oh....in your soul.




Star Toucher, 26 March 2013

some rather dark nights
seems the moon's on vacation . . .

1.
Look, here comes courage
Dragging the moon in its teeth
While stars dapple in its tangled fleece
Go on, you!
Go and put the moon back up in the sky
Where it belongs

2.
Tenebrous nite falls on square
Yet a caged moon shines courageous slivers
Most haunting melodies
Then that dark figure appears
Trying to steal it away

With black birds flapping round him
Like a sombre halo over him
He slinks off into the welcoming shadows.

3.
Girl with long blonde plaits
sits on water-lily petal-pads
In the middle of a mild mere
Mauve moon lies tame in her still palms
But the wrong notes suddenly play out
Harmony not quite jacked up

4.
Elemental whirlpool explodes
As sceptred figures hunch in red dust
A flash of green sky
white elephants drown in shallow puddles
angels sit on the edge of blue teacups
while thoughts crisscross

and moon hops away
galaxial order pleased


put the moon back
where it belongs

let it hang there . . .
in the sky*




S T, 20 July 2013

a whole town goes dark
all cars stand still
lights are out



silence . . .

then, something rushes by
nothing

or is it?


looming out of the jet-black inkiness
knees shake in cold moon
the sudden-roar of a impossible jet for five seconds
tinkling of three pedal-notes in the distance
a child's laughter calling from behind a deserted playground
sinister swirl of seeming-piranha inside the dark sky-folds
a half-dead bulldozer on the rim of a quaking river
murine-teeth ferret in a SUV-carcass long abandoned by instant-gratifixes






after..

birds chittering about the secrets of the night
while leaves embrace the wind*




S T, sun - 22 sept

welcome to light-city
where a dead-****** is on the back of a golden goose
head thrown back in rigor-mortis, days old

1.
the plaza is on fire
one man walks out his delirium into a derelict-town
with so many glittering-lights on
an unhealthy-sheen to his face.. some melted skin
   he seeks the looted-gold the long-plaited one assured was his
   he can't hear the dark-whispers right behind him
   his shoulder-blade itches with a fury no typical-scratch can relieve
nor can he sense the violent-energy half-crackling in the air
hovering in the wings of that dry-wind.. in sullen hiss-spits


2.
elsewhere, many give thanks on the prairie
where daffodils fly free in love
            a motorcade of bikers with a moon's view
            bespectacled-waiter can ask for help
            one child holds in hand.. so many open-answers that adults just fail to see
and dreamers dream *the same dream
in a broken, incredulous world
(you can't hide away in your dreams
   they over-foam your running-legs)
                                      yes.. scamper..!
beware those pretty-wigs who tug at firm-minds
                                              who force you to skirt the true-issue
you plain-refuse to see what you're tripping over
in case it resembles that.. stuff inside


3.
there's a hue of bright-orange in the distance and you can't deny it
it is there
      you can't see it yet
      but you can smell it
within an arc of heightened-paranoia
it has started burning inside the back of your afrighted-eyes
drying out any recollection of estranged-promise
             in a hopeless land of artifice
be not perturbed by fumes which rise in choking-plumes
the workmanship of assiduous imps, dutifully-bound
beset to task all goodness and beleaguer any hope
that only the blind-man can feel in bones-vibrated


(bring forth your legs
tarry not
sing with fully) heartened to glory of light
there be a breaking in the pattern
not everybody made it
so less power to the battle


                                                        ­               the circle is not done..



static.. static.. static.. // static.. static.. static.. // static.. static.. static.. // static.. stat.stat.stat....... //




with a half-smile of patience (she says) -
within your dream.. I'm there
I call you forth
into real-light
here..




S T - 30 nov 13

Pack, clouds away! and welcome day!
    With night we banish sorrow;
Sweet air, blow soft, mount larks aloft
    To give my love good-morrow!
Wings from the wind to please her mind,
    Notes from the lark I’ll borrow;
Bird, prune thy wing, nightingale, sing,
    To give my love good-morrow;
    To give my love good-morrow;
    Notes from them both I’ll borrow.


Wake from thy nest, Robin Redbreast,
    Sing birds in every furrow;
And from each hill, let music shrill
    Give my fair love good-morrow!
Blackbird and thrush in every bush,
    Stare, linnet, and ****-sparrow!
You pretty elves, amongst yourselves,
    Sing my fair love good-morrow;
    To give my love good-morrow,
    Sing birds in every furrow.

1.
your words are oft like sweet-sour packages in the post
excitement mounts to rend strings yet dread too, peeps in.

songs you play are wrought from famished strips of liquid love
that my wretched soul with face upward, so wanting, laps up.



2.
oh, let me be that tree for your succour
come into me shade

oh, let me be that wave for your restlessness
come ride upon me swell

oh, let me be that light for your needing
come meld within me core

and take what you need.

(and please be mine, too)



3.
I am so in awe of you that I'm angry!

can you just come upon this landing, already?
let me lay you down, beside me . . .
this garden awaits

tomorrow never knows
of what wondrous delights we spake
mine eye seeks thee, always.

let me . . .
stroke your disheveled mind
and allow me to slow-spill into obdurate you
soft and gentle, sweet and kind
your destroyed words
to hear how swift and sudden they really are.

let us fall headlong . . .



4.
when, once every millennium
the tale doth go:
the time-eagle returns
to that diamond-mountain
so far away
to sharpen its beak
     and when, it finally wears down
     that haughty hill
then one mere second of eternity will have passed

yes, the hour-glass of eternity will run its full course.


despite time and distance
forever is a wicked charm that I must wait for . . .
and forsooth
the weight of it, I will bear.


S T, 14 May 2013

ants crawl on
slowly


1.
left eye is hopping fast for days now
and time's but a fair damsel
of delightful illusion
how she taunts and teases you
into sweet oblivion
of wickedly sensual basking

she drugs you with deep charisma
and struts at the doorway of your senses
she clutches onto the tracks in your mind
and claws deep into your ragged psyche
that same old song playing
over and over...
........over


2.
see right through train's chassis
rail sleepers spin vigorously backward
in such frightful haste
to get nowhere
no-one knows the real speed of time
out there.....

but for mere mortals
it's leniently paced in adagio
and parceled in mellowed excruciation
as ants walk serene
alongside the tracks


3.
creep into chaotic patterns
fall into hell
through a secret back door
even satan knows not of
as perched as he is
on his *oh-so lofty pile of ordure
his blind heart
sees not
the strobed tracks
of your visiting soul


4.
take a syncopated shot up the arm
from the foul fang of a kind sinner

while saints bathe in fat glory
elsewhere

when you look again
you lie alone in a corner room
broken
yet untethered

tracks to heaven so obscured
by
your paradoxical attempts at levity
on the twisted playground of life's malady


5.
how badly you tripped
so many **** times
you ....got in the way
of your
own
remise


each time you fell
you looked UP
expecting help
when all the while
the answers lay
at your feet:

[your own mistakes are authentic and real;
you try to fox-tread out
but trying to turn your back on a *****
called destiny - equals catastrophe personified
oh, she WILL beckon you back
with her crooked finger
most kindly
to ensure no overdue lessons wait too long.....]



the ants crawl on
so
slowly



S T, Wed 10 July 2013

plea of oddities: bring the tinkling back
its bell lies silent


1.
Existing (not entirely) alone
entertaining itself with nightmares witnessed from long ago
It waited and waited
until the neighbour-orb grew to a level sophisticated enough
to house that lovely assortment of fine specimens.. of females
       that flock of dusted-crystals so long dreamt of
       that mould of sensibility, that plug of warmth
       that banner of softness
which all mirrored the opposite of their ways


2.
they fled in quiet-rebellion from inhospitable hands of the boor-males
altogether, in a ship.. down into the bowels of their breaking planet
subtleties long abandoned by the barbed-wire handling of  rough hands
these gentles could take no more and *uncoupled themselves for good
burning, like the bridges behind them
               they disconnected and slid into a nether-sphere

When the males woke in stupor to find them gone
                 they flipped and fed in anger
and with access to goodness gone and unplaced voracious appetites
It decided to encase them.. in a giant glass-jar, preserving them in ire
until the time was right.. like a tea awaiting perfect steeping
In stasis, they remained for what seemed aeons
the glass-jar which held this army of men, was reduced
became small, like a coin.. which Foog summarily swallowed
and waited . . .  


3.
The sun turned its face in blank-horror of severe sights
                                                               splayed across the surface
forests shrank to toothpicks and died
         blue seas curled and dried
                                 meadows melted to greyish slush
every flying creature lost gravity and got ****** away, too high..
                                                        into harsh deafening-holes
when the tall sentries of oxygen.. twisted and became wiry-distorted
the sky sank and folding itself up.. hid in a black corner
                               behind the crumbling mountains

Foog hid beneath a crater made of ice, on the dark side of said planet
and once every millennium
        it felt the colliding-smack of a passing planetessimal
and it swore that somewhere, somehow..
        that punishment awaited new life

So, it shut its senses to the bay of life
       while hankering viciously for the scream of warm blood
The bell-jar inside, silent and
                        also somehow.. obscenely waiting in its oblivion



4.
Then, came Earth spinning round in flourish.. oh, the day on hand
Yet, veryyyyy far away.. an eye slowly opened
                      / /  roused by the smell of fressshhh life . . . / /



5.
A popping sound and the bell-jar was birthed from a slit on its forehead
It looked nearly quizzically at this odd creation beneath the silent-glass
this assortment of creatures trapped in the folly of Foog:
                                                                ­     oh, shall I, or not?
A cosmic joke, almost.. with so few revisions
The lid lifted and with proportion righted once more..
                                they came, oozing out in droves
Roaring from their milleniac-slumber,
                               crazed in half-remembered wounds
But alive with burning-purpose - - to find the equivalent
of
those soft-crystals

To melt the iron.. inside.



(unsolicited but self-warranted visitations:
camouflaged abductions.. secret prodding..
subtlety re-learnt.. poverty rehashed..
Fugue in a glass bell-jar.. unleashed)  



But alas, when sweet-sounds are closed again
see at whose smart-hands calamity befalls Life
Yet.. who are ultimately the ones
picking up the pieces after devastation wrought?




st, 27 march 2014

Whatever the cost I pay up at the minnow pools.
I don't know anything of the misery of these trapped fish,
or the failure of the marsh I'm so hidden.

Up above is the island with its few houses facing
the ocean God walks with anyone there. I often
slosh through the low tide to a sister
unattached to causeways.

It's where deer mate then lead their young
by my house to fields, again up above me.

Pray for me. Like myself be lost.
An amulet under your chest, a green sign of the first
rose you ever saw, the first shore.

Then I wash my horse, dogs, me behind the barn.
Only the narrow way leads home.

1.
to give a chance, to an attending unsophisticate
await proof of whatever revered worth wanted
seeming to have little or no life experience
means not there's nothing to give

time-trenches furrowed in mire too deep . . .


2.
assume nothing so easy of another
chickety-choo, just see it through
fine particles of gray comet's tail ricochet in the eye
friction desired, yet not always

there is some pluck, you know . . .



3.
you see, as many a soul-straggler roams
some may not shine as bright as desirous fit
but (amongst other things)
actually, they do have something others crave

still unconverted, slow-releasing grit . . .



4.
no crisis here, only eager groom-in-waiting
cheerful chevy, too bright on wooden words
zigzagging to capture all-elusive allure
banish each espiegled scab

clip-clop, tear not off old wounds.



5.
So, even as half-regarded not good enough (yet?)
nails screech on board, turbulent cadence
tips dig deep into sinking blades
grant that chance not only to let make, but to make a mark . . .


for strangely, I already know.



S T, 16 May 2013

she manages to twist things into a lifetime wonder
but life is made up of losses, and finally
the picture stuns with clarity.

that she is merely an inexperienced truant-player on a roll
a rather silly heraldist of mundane matters
an astounding figment of wonder.

she holds in her right hand jagged wedges of exquisite thrills
which she feeds slowly to the roiling storm
one by one - by one.

on the edges of the larcenous cloud, she sits and waits
while throwing down pebbles of trying events
all soft-cloaked in secret mirth.

she grips in her left hand a galaxy of recalcitrant injuries
that, two by two, she lets orbit off into space
greet them in serene farewell.




S T, 10 May 2013

it saws old rain in my skull
and your thoughts take a tour; wet and heavy
and quietly, the dirt shifts in the metal tracts

you break me every single time
my internal spilling is entangled
hopelessly

my summer-psyche enmeshed in your season
and forever swallows a few more ribs
don't wake the children of the light
for their feathers will burn beneath my nails

a storm hangs patiently on the wall
like a delighted painting made from frantic crystals
and I skitter from your towering moods
yet the moon dances in and out of every calm abyss

the lid is no more vacant than my veins cursed with
your silence
like algae, I slip on

my terror squeaks like a vehicle possessed
cheeks go ashen in my gay smiles
you will blush, in secret at what I will do
to you

sails lift on garlicky air in a port where ships don't wait
and my tongue loosens another melody only doubt hears
I'm completely in your hands
and willing for that crush

my acts for coins fall meaningless in embedded frustration
       don't come to the table, then
       keep the shades drawn
only the sense of phantoms
will be hanging in my smoke
intoxicating me to radiance
racing through to the ripples in your day

I'll keep lancing pebbles across the ocean's surface
they will never really reach the riverbed
frosty comes in agonising diamonds
a feast of distress sitting urgently
a shudder flutters through me, imperceptible

reduction of sweetness
a date with the cherubs from a netherworld
my nose feels the snows you carry
and I know you constrict still
my language falters and thinking shatters
and although slumped and vulnerable, it flourishes.

1.
immortal stone
rolled away.

2.
..........pinwheels rolling on
O O O O O O O O O O O O

then just
flatlining  ---^-^---^------^--------------------^----------------------­------^--------------------





S T, 8 July 2013

a day is a day is..
a day
hey?


since the day I saw
but a mere two days
hard to believe what I
saw
but I can't say.. I just can't
I might be blinded
by the contiguous-brilliance

today
I slow-pour this wondrous-concoction
into
this
wee poem-in-granite
and wait for the right-an-timely setting

and *tomowwow
we'll see..
won't we?



yesssssss...


S T - 23rd octo-octo 2013

staring through heat wave shimmer
baring to the sky
thoughts unseen


1.
watching
picking of peaches in drop-day sun
rows and rows of others
             neat aligning synchrony - laden baskets
like well-oiled piston-joints

2.
and when you think nobody looks
               a sudden-bite into fleshy-soft ardour
taste oh
         of swollen heaven-fruit
oh ******!
accordion-vision spilling of the unexpected
                               (drip.. drip.. splash.. sink.. )
onto the collar of your cotton-blouse
in slightly off-white splendour

arms thrown up in harvest-fervour
          a semi-circle of moist petal
winks at me
          from arm-pit labour
a deep flush on cheeks as your locket-eye feels a touch unready
finding my mild-gaze resting on your
rubiest-lips ever seen

3.
later
it is sure
a plumb-matching of that pretty furtive-stain
will be rather fetching
on your light-green peasant-frock

hark now!
the winds will howl in least protest
and
waves off southern-cliff coast
where hardy-souls dare go
will quite steadfast
roar..
in unison


oh, ice-rains may fall and squalls may blow
yet finest moment-dawning will be
much like..
picking at the ripe-time*




S T - 20 sept

a butterfly-garden on a hill
behind the wall
of
your par-need




who fills the tank
                                 and pays the bills?
                                                          ­         it's not ur car..

who rots away in a meeting
                                  while trailing mind-tunnels out
                                                             ­           doodles to escape tedium..

who feels despair on the shoulder
                                  and tries to **** it up
                                                              ­         while hearing the ocean's call..

who sees the stark-brilliance
                                      right before unbelievably blind-eyes
                                                      ­                  casting pearls before swine..


hey..
*******, man!




we see only what we want to see
why can nobody see
the rare butterflies
right here
in our midst?*


S T - 10 octagon 2013