It's never ending,
The drains overflow,
Cars bathe pedestrians
Who are already drenched.

There's a cool breeze
Blowing in this city of wind.
It would be perfect,
If I didn't live in the city.

Take me to the moors
Where the grouse nest
And the choughs graze.
To the sea of heather.

The smell of wet earth,
Pummeled by car exhausts
Poisons the streets and
Like me, the trees try to escape.

I could wander the moors
Till I reach the cliffs
Where the salt of the Atlantic
Makes love to the gorse.

The shelter given
By a rotting house
Cannot be compared.
I would rather roam the moors.

It is one of those strange evenings
when orange clouds fill the sky.
It is an end of the day
when showers bring out
newspaper umbrellas
as people race to their cars
with an arm full of groceries.

A girl with wide hips and
soulful eyes walks her dog
unaware of my presence and
without notice of the blazing sky.

To her, I am transparent
as I stand on one leg
like a seagull perched
on a post in sea breeze
with a smile wide in hope
her eyes will find me
aching for her to ache for
me.

Dancing through the long hallway

Racing for the arched doorway.

Every day has an ending

Every night has a beginning.

you see,
my poetry
is written by hand.
and my hand
is an extension of my heart. because I can find no other way to express how it
continues to beat day after day without fail than to move my pencil to the same rhythm
and no
I don't always keep perfect time
but neither does my
   heart.

Tick, tick, tick
Goes the bomb that is my mind-my soul.
It seems no matter what I do, that noise follows.

Tick, tick, tick
And with that noise come
the thoughts-the feelings.
The feelings that I can never quite shake
The thoughts that I can never quite silence.

Tick, tick, tick
If one more person attacks me for my beliefs
If one more person fails to respect me as another human being,

I think I will explode.

I am all things,like the strings on a banjo,plucked
slow and easy,
making music to please you,
and you are the plectrum
that strums me
numbs me
and melodically I crumble at your touch,
did you know how much the music
means?

Over the rooftops, windows and treetops - came sun
summer magenta, morning of skies will come.
Singing in silvery shadows, hummingbird drinking in penstemons
a day dappled in sun and sun, til evening late in brightest moon to light this earthly dome.
All the yesterdays sailing on, beyond the dark and stars.
How fast and far to roam, all the days
that come and come.

Oh green I sing, of wings and birds across blue morning sky
with summer sounds, willows round the floating pond
dipping gently by.

Warm winds play music soft
through leaves and reeds, they sing
gathering in the transient breeze.

Under leafy trees of sunlight and shadows
all the day I rest my head
breathe sweet the flowering fields
never shall I leave this place
nor want for any sweeter heaven.