They said
“You get back what you put out”
I said
“I love you”

I
Cannot die
Hard as I try
Seemingly
I must
Go
On
And on
Beyond this bright stage
To another age
And
Another.
Hilarious
But
No
Ones
Laughing
Perhaps
Its
time

Grahame Rourke

Tears
They’re said not to be for men
But then again
When touched and in pain
Its considered sane
To let them rain
Down your cheeks
Forming little creeks
Hurrying to the crying mouth
With curled lips
The voice slips
Out little sobs and sighs
Connecting to inner ground
Not happy but sound,
Alive

Watch dog
Imperious
Serious
Deadly serious
Nothing gets by him
Snarling, growling, sniffing
Saliva drooling
He watches
Nothing gets by him
Steely eyed
Laser beams
Like x rays
Looking, dissecting, inspecting
Ready, oh so ready
To pounce
Ney attack
Rush like a stampeding elephant
And stomp any semblance of meaning
Or utterance
24/7 and he’s long serving
Going way back
To when I was so very small
And didn’t know it was not ok to just say
Say what…say what?
I know not
But it must have been important
Because I bought this dog
Snarling, drooling….ever ready to pounce.

The daffodil hangs its weary head
The trumpet sounded
The winter dead
The tears of snow now shed
The rise of sap
Begins to lap
On the shores of hope
And beyond
So far beyond
Into silence
And stillness
God bless
The sweet caress
Of tenderness
In a wilderness
If not a desert
Of loneliness
Dunes  piled high
By the winds of chance
And the carrot of romance
A seasonal dance
Promises,
And in short, longs
For contact
Ever present
In the back of the mind
Be kind
Please be kind
Its kinder nice
And much better to have
Than cold shoulders
Like boulders
Standing resisting movement
And in their stubbornness
They thwart life
Oh what a die to die for.

Grahame Rourke

Richard of York, grew bananas in Virginia
Newtonian prism
That scientific schism
That drives a nail into the coffin
Of innocence
That refracts awe into
Data, facts and information
That splits brilliance into
unseeing insensate familiarity
The vulgarity of knowledge

The longs and rites
Of smoking

The breath of a man
Began at 16
An institutional drag into adulthood
Not for me, see, as we had begun
To inhale the essence of the divinity  of masculinity
As a wage earning paper boy with money to burn
As a *** waving fisherman,
As an adoring footballer,
Strolling onto  the stage
To rapturous applause
Following smoke signals
Of my arrival

What would entice
Someone into self sacrifice
Surely a little self harm would suffice
Its not enough to hold back the bilious stew
Of spew
Trying to stay true to you
Instead I vie with an inner spy
As I Try to live deaths lie
Buried alive, modified and zombified
Indeed a need to please
Has brought me to my knees
Mortified.

Its virus gate,
So separate and isolate
Lock up, stock up
And rock up for the showdown
In slowtown
Get with the notion
There aint no potion
That’s going to save our skins
From our despoiling sins,
Our double chins
And our plastic filled bins
Better notify your next of kin
No need to curse
It’s covid 19 the virus
The new kid in the hood
You know it aint going to be good
Its starting to escalate
Now they try to shut the gate
Is it too late……
Is it fate?

Waste
Capitalism’ tyrannosaurus  footprint
In the air we breathe
In the seas we swim
And play
Stamping  on the very pulse
Of gaia’s heart beat
We bury it in haste
Like our heads
In the ground
And pretend its not there

Amongst the ashes of the fire
I found myself dancing

Sending  glowing embers
Into a star filled night

And, I remember all those dances
From long ago

Some fast

Some slow

Some partnered

Some… alone

Now set in ageing flesh

And old bone

In the dance hall of mists.