From out of the smoke,
And impromptu silences,
A lone piper plays at reels,
Beyond the borders, his knees
In a trinity of keys, breaching
Low dun black ****** hearts,
The public house is enclosed
Out in the open, under a plow
Of mossy stars, peat and bog,
Wrapped, within chanters throat.

Round of twin *******,
Circle thighs, hips, moon bottoms,
The round of my palms.

I draw the hot bath
For you, my sweet goose bumped girl,
Your smile draws me in.

My lips said,
'Let's ride,'
Her eyes said,
'How far?'

Groping out of bed,
Keep the sun at bay,
Mirror eyes look red,
Soft in morning glaze,
Shower waters said:
Thank the sun, amaze,
Splinters in my head,
Silent verse word play,
Morning ends, I'm fed
Sweet caffeine au lait,
Later beers— instead,
Wine, my guitar flays,
Splinters in me head
And all ends up paid
As time revolves dead,
Poems making grade,
Song and music bled,
That is my bed made,
Staving off the dread.

Some art and poems— our strokes on paper

And walks among green mountains and sea,

On weekends of a friend visiting, time tapers,

Simple riches, words over ales, wine and tea.

Princely treed blue jay  .  .  .
Hopping up boughs of old spruce,    
  .  .  .  Both have crested heads.

There is better place,
Distant birds fly to and from,
Light behind mountain.

Lost shells, endless beach,
Waves wafting, breaking, quaking,
Made love by the sea.

Dressing the day,
Beaming purely, on bankers
Hours, spinning such fine, spine
Wheel ways, painting the stones
Of grey, never so faraway, showing
Mighty, mirth in maddest Midgard,
Bearing blooms dizzily, trailing
All the new, children who play,
Pick and count, humming with faces
Bright as the late bedding stars
Joyous in the offered cheers
Of the crowning sun, gifts
All, in endless amount.