The joy of my father resting with nature is that I hear him rattling underneath the autumn leaves,
I see him in the beautiful view of a mountain and reborn in a summer breeze.
My father isn’t lost in time and has not simply slipped away,
With every sapling that is reborn my fathers spirit remains to stay.
I see him in the foot prints and the temporary ground beneath my feet,
And when we return to nature he and I will rejoice when once again we entwine to meet.

The fractured land looked solid,
When she dreamt that it was her port of call.
Those snowy caps juxtaposing the inviting shores,
Convinced her of the romance and the mystery of it all.
She yearns to nestle within that land,
But the storms keep dragging her so far away.
She wholly longs to give every bit of herself,
But fear’s that she is incapable of deserving to stay.

My limbs feel reflexively serpentine as if they will to crawl away
Only my rapidly beating heart has any wish to stay
I know that I will find deep pleasure again when our bodies entwine in peace
And within my ****** soul mate our bodies commune in sweet release

I am drowning
I am drowning
The only thing keeping my head above water is your iridescent voice
If love will save you
Let love save itself
And if drowning be love
Let love drown me into peace

I wish that we could entwine our limbs into some vine like knot
Ever twisting and growing and furling
And tightening with each pull

Through our mouths and ears would bloom the flowers
Heads thrown back crying out
Yet pensive air ghostly still

Until breaths would yawn for nurturing water
And limbs slowly unfold to peace
And hope remains leaving bodies that have everything yet to will

They stand there glassy eyed,
Not quite side by side,
But close enough to feel every painful shake and quiver,
The judering and stucatoed shivers,
That reverberate all the way down to their liver.

The 11am Crowd at the bar,
For whom drinking becomes a daily chore,
Who shuffle there dutifully everyday,
Who haven't got far from the night before.

The 11am crowd at the bar,
Do they feel life is passing them by,
Do they even want to try,
To experience something more,
Than sticky floors,
And amber pints,
And revolving conversations,
That lead to lost nights.

The 11am crowd at the bar,
Do they believe that their downfall is their choice,
Or at the bottom of a pint,
Do they loose sight,
Of those who prayed for them day to final night.

When I met you in the pub that night,
The movement and the way you sauntered over,
It was so clearly pre-defined.
The way that you held your hand out,
The over the top air kiss,
Too effortlessly refined.
 
Later into the night the drugs imbibed,
Drinks convivially consumed,
The space between us lost.
Time disappears down,
Some rabbit hole,
At some unsaid noir mutual cost.
 
The pint shoved with jovial force,
From the slick wet bar,
Into my waiting hand.
The coked-up person,
Backing me into a corner,
Reassuring me that they totally understand.
 
And whilst my malnourished ribs,
Are digging uncomfortably,
Into your hard ***** floor.
There are things that I would,
Say to you,
If bravery mistook me for more.
 
You consume me with,
Your entire world,
Whilst mine just ebbs away.
My voice gets quiet,
And agreeable,
I forget that I had anything worthwhile to say.
 
This world takes the very guts of me,
With every wrap of drugs that I see.
And that girl slipping away in the mirror,
Is becoming so very different from me.
 
With every drink fuelled choice,
Each line of drugs,
Each night that I see reappear as day.
The feeling submerges,
From the depth of me,
That this life is not ok.
 
Whilst I can try and lay the blame,
Of my gradual downfall,
At the feet of some charismatic few.
It’s some personal emancipation,
That will allow me to start my again life,
With a sanguine view.
 
As I disappear down the rabbit hole,
For what I tell myself,
Is one last epic fall.
I hope that the person,
Who appears on the other side,
Is strong enough to walk away and leave it all.

Do you remember when we sailed across the African Ocean. We were tired and the journey was long. Not far from shore the the full beaming path of the moon shimmered into life and the wind died into an almost unearthly silence. The water was treacherous and full of night creatures that cloyed and scratched at the boat thus creating holes and divots that threatened to sink our vessel and deliver us both into the inky ocean. I imagined the creatures contently sated and us torn into insignificant tiny pieces drifting outwards throughout the seemingly limitless sea until they rested miles apart.
We prayed to the sky for a wind to come and lost hope that no one was listening from above.
From the depths and cracks of the ship hundreds of tiny mice appeared that had unknowingly stowed away with us. They used all of their strength to blow a cumulative great almighty wind into the sails of the ship
and carry us safely back to shore.
Help doesn't come from where we expect it and even the tiniest of gestures can become something great and powerful

I dangle my legs above the water whilst
The waves lap gently under the jetty
Into some shallow faux abyss

If I just curled my fingers over the edge and dared to peek beneath
My nostrils would filled with the smell of damp wood
And my ears the sound of gentle lapping water knocking against solid planks

If I could peak into my life with the same hesitant expectation
Would the wood just rot and fall
Would the waves have nothing to lap against
Until drifting gave way into night