Now I rest, for here I build heaven,
Within these glades of ever-expanding tranquility, on the edge of infinity.
Here I shall find a place for my idyl,
Down by where the corn fields lead.
That which I sow shall not be forgotten,
Lest I grow weary of my Harvest deeds.
And that which is dead shall reresurrection!—
Abundance! abundance!—
Like the changing of the autumn leaves.

...is a purple curtain

behind this curtain
is your flesh

behind your flesh
is your ego

behind your ego is the real you
we've been on a journey
like grandpa and grandmom
take me away
take me to the place of the real you

You're my lucky charm,
Silver locket,
Heather in my pocket.

The twist of fingers,
For a promise,
A love so pure, forever honest.

Said The Raven
To The Raven
Which Raven are you?


I said The Raven
Am The Raven
Of Samuel Taylor Coleridge.


And I said The Raven
Am The Raven
Of Edgar Allan Poe.


Apparently there's a rave on -
Shall we go?


Yes - let us go then you and I
As the evening is spread out
Against the sky.


But not like a patient
Etherised upon a table.


Let us like Thunderbirds
Not gentle go into this dark night.


So dressed in sable
White gloves
And whistles
They went on their way -
Not looking forward
To conversations about
Michelangelo at all.


For as we all know
Old age should rave and burn
At close of day.
And not just fizzle out.


More big shout...........................................


And rave until you fall.

Years later
Bathsheba's psychiatrist
Was analysing the tryst
Between King David
And her.


It was no tryst
Said she.
What a slur.
He was a ******
And an opportunist.


An amoeba would concur
Said the psychiatrist
That a shower screen
And being more demure
Would have been
Quite spiritually enterprising.


You cannot expect
Kind David to desist
From objectifying your femurs
And a cracking pair of amethysts.


Don't treat me
Like some calculating
Hormone Exchange Unit
You sexist misogynist.


You are not fit
To analyse me.


You say your name's Freud
But you're wholly devoid
Of any insight
Of what is amiss
Or my troubles might be.


Not one piece of grit
Have you put in my oyster.
You obsequious churl
I'm a girl you don't mess with.


I could have you hung.


But instead she dismissed him
and booked an appointment
With a certain professor
Who went by the name of
Carl Gustav Jung.