Slow, as if beset by dreams and
Presently, afraid to fall asleep.
Encircle, bullpen predators.
I'm not afraid to die upon this hill.

Today I go to pack my bags for what
I need in the journey ahead of me
A camera and four books (not quite a lot)
And enough songs to last me for a week
Then comes the clothing and the toiletries
Packed compacted to last for a fortnight
Then I'll pack some card based activities
And something soft for my head to rest right
And finally, a pen, pencil, and pad
For my first trip with this site that I have

How long behind Bob Dylan’s Shades—
smoke furls and curls among the glass—
before a man belies his fame?

The corner of the room pervades—
imbued with smoke if so to pass—
How long behind Bob Dylan’s Shades?

Visage so cool but starts to jade;
will eyes see through and to surpass,
before a man belies his fame?

Caught in the great aesthetical wake,
the fans will bend and surge en masse—
How long behind Bob Dylan’s Shades?

His words, his voice, depict a sage—
I wonder if the lore will last
before a man belies his fame.

But once the petals cease to sway
and blades blow back a pompous ***—
How long behind Bob Dylan’s shades,
before a man belies his fame?

I thought I could escape a raptor when
I moved five hours to a new valley
I switched out my life and my set of friends
Those dark thoughts had finally gone from me
One work week in, and somehow they were back
Those feelings I had thought both gone and dead
Three weeks in, and I've cut them quite far back
But no matter what, they're still in my head
So I guess that they'll just never be gone
So with that in mind, I'll keep moving on

You are the one who brings me so much pain
Each day I fight to keep myself alive
Your look, your touch, all I feel is disgust
If it were up to me you’d feel all this
Each day you live, o Lord please bring me peace.

Let's walk down the cobbled road in the rain
We'll come back with pastries and some new books
Let's visit that old castle once again
The boxer boy graffiti's still there, look
The DART dashes on to the city streets
As we bring groceries back to the rise
In a misty garden, there's birds to meet
We set the table under still bright skies
After a plane trip over the east sea
We're finally in Éire with dad's fam'ly

"See, I've found that not a lot rattles you"*
I can't let it in my surrounding world
From populist risings gaining their roots
To drugs in the school (such as the bus girl)
I've seen school street plays, and blood on hall floors
And news that doesn't care about the truth
I've heard your fights with mom, in and out doors
I've seen infection spread amongst the youth
So call me jaded or darkly funny
But the way I am, you just have to be

I have always been quite fond of the rose
That flower sweet by any other name
That one sweet to both the eyes and the nose
That can grow to be so wild or tame
Maybe I am a bit biased in this
For my middle name is shared with the bloom
If it went, in romance it would be missed
It adds beauty to gardens and all rooms
And like my namesake, I have pastel lips
Thorns to fight with, and nice little round hips

Awoke to masked and yellow light of morning
Six days of joy preceded shades of holly
You crept away as my heart was warming
And left with me this wayward taste of folly
Which tongue and teeth did press on those wet lips
Who had ne'er known nor spoke but songs in prose
Now sang of curves that in soft light eclipsed
When feeding mouth, mine eyes and soul arose
I still can see the memory of your face
Those shining giant eyes and softest skin
Transport me to the realm of your embrace
Where then we lived as if life just begins
But if somehow love took me whilst I slept
These days I wait and wonder if I dreamt

The hunter runs after his prey, and then
It leaps forth into the stary night, which
Swallows it up to be part of it when
The hunter finds their chase to be unhitched
Around the entire globe, we find
That we all have some commonalities
We all have something in the human mind
That reflects our common realities
We chased our prey, only to find that it
Had taken off for the celestial
With our knack for storytelling and wit
We had made star pictures and festivals
It oddly speaks to our human nature
That our stories can become much greater