Two birds took flight at different times on pinions driven
By a shared need for height and clarity in the thinner clearer
Air above the chattering noise
Of lower altitudes,

Two birds, both feather clad yet more apart than chalk and cheese,
One a raptor with  keen and savage eye
And beak and claw,
The other softer, silver grey and dove,

Two creatures launched at different points in history,
Sharing a common physiology
Yet at odds in their interaction with the world
And opposite ends of the food chain,

Not once should their flights cross except but once,
Even would time dividing their flights permit,
And then would end in a flurry of blood
And broken feathers,

But against all that these things can happen and sometimes must And did and then
As perception grew in predator and prey,
Eyes widened in unexpected recognition
Of a kindred spirit,

Then immutable rules of living worlds are broken
And the norms of life themselves take flight for suddenly
Those rules don’t count for much
And what then remains

Is unknown

Do we fly?

Or do we crash to earth?

Over half a century served now,
Two kids
Two weddings
And one heart attack,
A life chequered with
Equal good and dark and downright bad,
Joy brought to some
Yet to others pain,
So I wonder now,
Can two rights
Overcome one wrong?

Yes I have done my part,
Brought some to faith,
Helped more to a better
More empowered life,
Loved and been loved
And yet always it seems
Lifting others to fly
Like eager doves
To greater things,
Greater lives,
Better loves and more,

Yet still I wonder,
Can two rights correct
One wrong?
Can even I be saved,
Is salvation there for
Even one such as I?
I have been called
An angel,
Even offered wings to
Others comfort
And encouragement,
Yet I so feel that darker side,
That darker things has done,

And so as this journey
Draws to its conclusion
I find myself drawing in
To myself yet still
Extended,
(Over so in fact) to the wellbeing of these others,
Still there for them and yet
At heart and
In the dark
I am alone aside
From the judgement

Of unelected disdainful
Self-righteous prigs
Yet here I am,
Up to my **** in alligators
Yet still trying to drain
Other people's swamps,
Still bailing while
Dodging the bites and
Still quiet,
Still alone,
In the dark,
As the coffin lid,
Slides home.

Well that was quick,
That was fast in fact,
The transition from
Nervous angler
Trying to land that
Gut felt truth that
Would not yield to
Rod nor line
But rather fought
And pulled and calmly won.

Its the silence that Gets me most
Of all,
The lack of,
The void no longer filled by,
Well - you!

You crept beneath
My radar so I never
Saw you coming,
And now that
Not seeing,
That absence of view
And hearing,
Sod it that absence
In every sense,
All six in fact for
We both know the width
And depth
And power of
Our interactions,
Well,
That blindness is ****** awful!
And I thought you should know

Sometimes words are weapons
Add an s or a certain order and
They will cut to the bone,
Eviscerate a  bowel,
Destroy a dream,
End a life,
Break a lovelorn heart

Other times sans s fronted
They caress a weary cheek,
Lift up a tired soul
And reassure a faltered
Dream that its time
Too will come to
Faultless fruition

We speak thousands of words
Every day of our lives
Without thought,
And spoken they come
With added edges and jagged spurs
Of intonation, tone,
Expression

Or with balm for healing,
Warmth for the cold
Respite for the bewildered
Mind and soul
Lifting up repairing all
And making good
On harm

But beware the poem
Most of all! for it
Is a fearsome trap
For the unready author
Who writhes upon the created flow
Struck from their own verse
Read well by another,

For poems tell our truth
Warts and all,
And like singing lay us bare
To critic judge and common herd,
Who hear, absorb
And find us whole and
Nowhere left to hide,

We are forced to face
Reaction,
Reaction to our souls and hearts
Captured upon a pen's point,
Pinned to a board or a page
And read aloud
Where all can see

And what do you hear?
What do you see?
My God you see
The real and naked,,
The one and only,
Me.....

Sunlight filtered
By trees that last night
Stood nearly silent guard
About us as we  broke
New ground,
Dapples the canvas
Of my tent

Daylight and day bird's chirrup
Would deny the mystery of what went before,
Gone the soft silence
Of the silver moon,

Perhaps too that which
May after all be but dream
Despite the delicious languor
In mine limbs and
Through my soul

I lay betwixt and between,
Half awake and
Half still clinging
To my dream when with
Movement not of mine
Tousled brunette over a shy and sleep creased smile
Says "hi"