you called, i came,
that's what one does,
when a friend,
is terminal.

i watched you doze.
body skeletally thin,
face no longer yours,
more drawn and alien.
skin parchment draped loosely,
on a collasping frame.

quiet i sat,
not ready to disturb.
you woke and smiled,
with effort, moved
to bring me into focus,
you reached for my hand
and beckoned me close.
inside my heart lurched.
"glad you came, just needed
to see your face."
my smile tremulous,
as you gently squeeze my hand,
with all your strength,
"not long"
you sigh on laboured breath,
i nod unable to agree.

you slip back to sleep.
giving me,
momentary grace,
to gather myself,
my thoughts.
inwardly, i mourn your choice to cease the battle,
fought and won twice before,
but,
i know this is my need,not yours crying.
when stronger,  you as always, eloquenty explained your rationale.
battle weary,
knowing the final outcome you chose,
not to walk toward it,
but let it come, without fight,
for you, not fear,
but faith's reward.
pallitive care was all you sought.

the warrior woman,
had put away her sword.

you told me, all this, one day bright with sun,
as we watched my child play.
you ended the conversation with these words.
this is not suicide,
dear girl, but grace.

again you stir and mumble,

" live well my dear one"
"as have you"
my broken reply"
"go, for now there are others to see"

i put my lips to yours,
special in intimacy.
i walk from the room,
your salt tears on my face this will be my last time spent with you,
my mentor, my friend,
my sage wisdom women.

in the garden of death's place
i sit myself down
and water the world with my sorrow.

there is this photo....you see
of pretty much nothing...of
nowhere....at least....
nowhere i know...

the skies are blue, with
a cotton balling of
innoccuos clouds
it seems as tho the weather
would be pleasant there.

there is a gray-blue-rock
covered track, well road, that roughly disects the photo,
beginning right in the centre at the forfront
and then wending off
to the right behind a small hill.
the track would be wide enough for a small car
or cart
but is in the picture
devoid off traffic.

as is it's smaller,
companion walking path, terraced and to the left of the road.
cut about six foot below the road persay

to the right, a spindly tree
of indeterminate species
then, stretching off to the photo's edge,
green grasses, roughly, cropped low by machine
or beast.

to the left, once again below,
the walking path,
a swathe of green
and then, an expanse of water,
loch, lake, river,
i do not know,
but it is wide and slow.
there are no,
watercraft, no birds,
to be seen.

just water,  greenery,  
a spindly tree
and the two tracks,
leading to god knows where and coming from, behind
the lense.

but right now, the ambiguity
of destination, the lonliness
of the landscape are appealing, enthralling, even.

there is a dichotomy,
in the fecund greeness of the grass,
opposed to the, apperent,
barenness of the lake.
and in the disection of the pastoral scene, by man made road, there is disruption,

there is choice.
to, cant to one side,
or the other.
there is choice to, go forth into the unkown.
or to, retrace one steps
on the road behind.

it is a photo,
that while not
bucolic in nature,
is pleasant
that is well framed,

....that is the one...
you take when you
want to finish the roll of film,
or these days fill the memory card...

why it has me,
fascinated at present is ...
it is a photo of somewhere... that is not here...
it is a photo of somewhere...
where, the possibilties are new,untried...not impossible
.......where the grass
.......is greener...where the grass is greener...where the grass is.....

as the oak is always the acorn,
so the poem is always the word,
no matter, how decimated       the tree,
no matter, how faded
the word,

inside resides, the tree, awaiting  the catalyst.
inside resides, the poem,
awaiting the esprit.


always, the essence remains,
embedded...  
always, is the outcome, foreshadowed...
etched in, by a code,
known, only in it's base intricacy by one...
the creator.

when i want
to build a wall.
i take the stone,
formed by,
anger or hurt
from my gullet.

wash it, so it's
dark facets shine.
then place it,
in the footings,
of my insecurity.
find another and repeat
til they form a line.

using as my mortar,
pain, embarassment
and indignation in equal parts.
mixed with tears and bile.

and then, i begin again
buttering bricks and
offsetting, them.
i want, no need,
my wall to be strong.

tho i never build,
my walls too high
three or four courses,
never, no more.
i want to be able to,
step over them
and be free

i have seen those
and watch them still,
thoese who, built a high, formidable wall,
a fortress, it does become,
with them, still locked, imprisoned inside.

so i learnt to build,
walls strong, but squat
so i can,
when ready,
emerge.
righteous and graceful.

but this is my folly,
the flaw, in my scheme.
my walls, they run
*****, nilly, everywhere.
and over them i trip
**** over beam..

so now...
i must find a school
to teach me the art
and give me the tools,
of how to deconstruct a wall.
with out the haphazard use
of a wrecking ball.

i suppose,
i must, i must, i must,
go forth, go forth,go forth,
into this brave day.

but know this, truly,
i crave, i crave, i crave,
to stay, to stay, to stay,
alone, here away from,

the maddening crowd,
at play, at play, at play,
too loud, too loud, too loud,
for my disconcordant mind.

if i had
my way, my way, my way,
i would hide,
away,away away,
over there
with books, with books,
with books
and uninterrupted solitude.

but my lot is such,
that a hermit,
i am not!
nor most days,
want to be.

but,today, today,today,

the words penned above
make up my mind's
clockwork soliloquy.

please let me hide
my face, my face, my face.
in this peaceful
place, place, place,
just til i catch my,
breath, breath, breath.

dimble dumble,
caught a, thimble thumble
of precious morning dew.

dimble dumble, took his thumble thimble,
full up to rimful.
on his nimble rambull
wooly stu,
careful not to lose,
a drippity drop
of the delicious dew.

they flimble, flambled,
up and overed,
down and undered,
till dimble dumble,
with his thimble thumble, filled to rimful,
on the wooly rambull... came to stumble.

his face a crumble,
as the rimful,
roamed and overflew,
the thimble thumble walls.
a dribble drabble did scribble scrabble,
down the rambulls hide.

dimble dumble
chewed his bottom lip
and cried.
"do not fret my little pet, look there is still enough inside"
wooly stu decried.
"i'll be more staid,as we ride our fortunes, soon will be made."

so,dimble dumble
and his rambull crew,
with thimble thumble recovered,
from the tumble.

on they skedoodledaddled. being careful to protect the remaining morning petal's dew.
after a while, time,
flew with dove like grace and dimble dumble,
with his dudes came
to the the very place, of the rimble romble rumble
and royal rapture rap parade

dimble dumble
and rambull stu on bended knee
and really humble
presented their
thimble thumble
not quiet full to rim still
but delicious and felitious morning dew
to the king awaiting
his purchase and perview.

before its spoiling,
it was boiling,
his kettle singing,
songs a ringing,
to the beauteous,
but not so bountious, morning dew.

dimble dumble
watched the
thimble thumble steam
and bubble blip away.
hands flipping flapping
nose jinkling wrinkling
as the fog blew,
his way boiling dew,
tea leaves darjeeling
with daphne blossoms
was the flavour of the day.

dimble dumble
with thimble thumble
empty now
and too, wooly stu
caught a peek of teacups platinum
holding royal blossom brew before the butler,
with a silly stutter,
sent them on their way,
with dimble dumble
all a fumble,
with a thimble thumble
of goldenboldens,
as his hard work's
reward that day.

i am a sheep of the blackest
shade.
and my sisters,
wooly white angels
in bleached mohair.
me i could do no good.
me bad through to the core.
them angelic, pure.
at least that's what, everybody,
thought they saw

girl, i am a member of the black sheep clan

my feet have always had,
a need to be elsewhere.
Dad called it my infernal wanderlust...
so, i have heeded their call.
travelled far and wide,
finding love in ports everywhere,
but none for to be my bride.

girl, i am a member of the black sheep clan.

always moving forward,
so i don't have to...
look behind.
but still,
self recrimination
is a constant bedfellow
of mine.
you know, it takes years,
of dedicated time and headspace.
to become a man,
beyond, his prime.

girl, i am a member of the black sheep clan.

a merry, meticullous ****-up.
who can laugh, at hisself,
yet, still continue to commit  his biggest crime,
daily i **** myself....
daily i survive....
just a one man crime wave,
not worth trying to save.
but you do, you do.

girl, i am a member of the black sheep clan.

motley me,
with a jester's soul.
trying for laughter,
but just getting more old.
lived a life, bought,
purely on fool's gold.
now close to the hereafter and still breaking the mold.

girl, i am a member of the black sheep clan.

the Crue knew who i am.
i am just one of this world's many misunderstood.

*girl i am just one member of the black sheep clan.

a calcium carapace,
sits upon the mantle's shelf. dreaming of the sea,
craving water and salinity.

pretty trinket ivory white,
a  plump smooth bubble with cafe au lait dotted curve, leading to,
sensuous convex lip,
scintillating burnt caramel
hue.

what lived in such a
palace of the sea.
what graced the interior hall.
did it wonder,
at the beauty of it's home,

or did it only see,
the weight of the walls, pressing in.

does the palace discarded
on the shelf dream,
of saltwater
and former self.

or is it an inamate relic,
of an unregarded time,
with out measured reason, unresonating thought, unrimed.

does it know
                 it is
                 beauty sublime.

no place, i would rather be.
sitting on golden sand, by sea.
once single, then dyad, now triad.
growing in love our little family.

and the sun shines down glad,
and we chase away, lingering sad
and we smile, the summer day long.
and i watch play, boy and proud dad

but in other climes, a sad song,
plays in a room where life is not long
and there is much pain
and somehow it is so, very wrong,

that some live and gain
and some who, seeded by bad grain,
are short changed, days of life
and  deseperate death reigns.


but in both places, love conquers strife
and in both places love is beautifuly rife.
love, lives hopeful and large, everywhere
because whether  long or short, we all live under damocle'an knife.....

so?
can we start again?did you mean what you said?
where do we go from here?
do you remember ?

what colour is the sky today?wanna come n' play?
whatcha wanna do?
one cookie or two?

have we got enough money?
can we pay the rent?
do you think you can get some more overtime?
what are we going to feed the kids?

does my *** look big in this?
what, you don't have a larger size?
how much for the full make-over?

what does it take to make you smile?
please, stay with me awhile?why are you staring at me?
what can you do?

when the world's gone crazy and all you have is a smile what can a girl do?

just wait a while, be patient
just wait a while
and
if you are lucky the answers may come..... or not.