your old winter robe
shaped only by memories
still hangs in my heart

Open a book
discover a landscape
waiting for you explore
your map is made from footsteps
where the writer walked before

We are the fallen
bereft of life
but filled with music
we sing with a speeding bullet’s zing
our lyrics the crack of splintered bone
a symphony written for us alone
in the land where all are supposed to be free
so much then for liberty

Early morning rain
washes any weekend traces
from coffee scented Monday faces

great ship in the fog
creaks low on a rising tide
rusting whale in pain

Dying sky
painted beautiful
the Gods would weep
if indeed there were Gods to see
the molten tips of living trees
and mountains pink
reflected in a coral sea
what a mistake to blink and miss
a glorious sunset
such as this

Marilyn's easel
a Madonna displayed
celluloid goddess
of the temple of the silver screen
we worshipped
ignoring the cracks and the obvious fact
that the woman behind the art
was slipping
slowly dripping off the canvas
now she is no more
we still adore
the puddle on the floor

Our connection
is a pale moon above
and stars that shine
they are yours as much as ever they were mine
we feel the grey of falling rain
the warmth of joy and the chill of pain
we live and we love, we laugh and die
under a yellow sun and the same blue sky

dawn in the garden
fragrant blossoms fill my cup
hot tea with lemon

Hear the dripping branches sing
when the icy breath of winter
melts to kiss the waiting lips of spring

Seventy two Crows
have come to bid you goodbye
dressed in mourning clothes

Sunset lends its many shades
as a dying day begins to fade
the whites of clouds
and parrotfish blues
replaced by glorious fiery hues
colours dance in the sky's cotillion
of melting golds and sweet vermillion

Clouded cattle breath
released to this November morning
a rising sun scarce dares to show its face
no fond embrace will grace a leaden sky
no warm & loving arms
to melt the chill on lonely farms and hills
all is still
as smooth & white
as paint upon a windowsill

Do not stop to dip your toes
or heaven knows to swim
in this sea of winds
where waves are whipped to horses ears
and tails of white among the foam
foolish child go home
retreat and walk no more
upon this wild and lonesome kelpie shore

Oh ocelot sky
spotted clouds of black and gold
filled with stars
the shining eyes
of a cat
among the heavens

Make me thunder tea
brew with leaves of falling rain
use a lightning spoon

Change in my pocket jingles
I wonder how many ears
in previous years
have also heard the music
of these little clanking bells
who could ever tell
but the feeling lingers
as I move them through my fingers

To be a bird
free on the breeze
taking in the charm of trees
to feel the light and taste the air
is not a gift that we can share
shackled to the ground it seems
we must content ourselves with dreams
leaving you to own the sky
while we look up and long to fly

Faith is a fruit tree
stripped bare of leaves and blossom
waiting for the spring

Clinging spider webs
settle on the frosted tomb
of a loving heart

Margaret's fingers clasped and still
white birds upon her window sill
silent doves that came to rest
sleeping now upon her chest
each settled bird that came to land
will fly no more from Margaret’s hands

Margaret's hands are small and white
they will never hug her mother
or feel a lovers hand squeeze hers
never play piano like her sister Maud
or wear a wedding ring
not any of these things
Margaret's hands are marble still
each dove at rest upon her chest

People come
they bring mourning flowers
I don't know where the vases are
that was always your job
where did you put them
I cannot find them
not under the sink
or in the shed
they are lost
like you are
and I need them
because flowers are everywhere
and you are not

Not everyone can be a star
no matter how we wish for heavenly light
most of us will not illuminate the night
those who burn and seem so bright
will oft ignite and fall
burning cinders
merely human after all

Fate, I do not know your name
remove a star
shake it from the sky
like brightest rain
cover me in a glittered cloth
of night and fire and light
remove the dark
and let me be that spark
which sets the heavens all aflame

Rest in peace you gentle soul
your eyes which saw only truth
gave us the spirit of those who worked the land
a portrait penned with honest colour
painted as it was
and not how we would have it be

Darling clever Oscar Wilde
that Enfant terrible
a rebellious child
he was pretty
and very witty
and yes he was gay
it's a shame we couldn't accept him that way

A thin and somewhat wavering cry
echoed in the banshee breeze
as she beat upon our door with frozen fingers
heralding your birth, you child of storms
a winter babe
the fallen leaf forever restless as he grew
a wailing wind inside to blow you onward
that much is true

To amuse myself
I will dance with the mirror
pas de deux pour un

The lonliest people
push away arms that care
they kick at gifts of comfort
as if the lonliness itself were a grey woollen blanket
wrapped tight around themselves
protection against feeling anything at all
except lonliness
because that would make the blanket fall
and leave them cold
naked in the light
and vulnerable
to vicious attacks of kindness

And the rain fell as numbers
countless splashes
painted pearls of days
turning my hair to white
all unknowing
that soon enough the storm would pass
and whoever threw these jewels
to cover me with life
would only hurl them once

A whisper in the dark
heard above the rain
when everything else is gone
hope will remain

A harp that needs no fingers
no hand to pluck the strings
it speaks of love’s betrayal
and ****** when it sings

To be a hero
is not just about the action
but when the day is done
to quietly get on with your life
and show them that they never won

The human mind
can be defined
as a darkened cave
from the warmth of the womb
to the chill of the grave
each thought is carried on flapping wings
by tiny furry flying things
sometimes one will fall from a claw
to grow in the guano that litters the floor
the best ideas start off bat crap crazy!

True persuasion
I think that you will find
is the gentle invasion
and the subsequent erasion
of a thought in someone's mind

You have come
good
I want to dance
whirl me around
free and young
bright as summer air
fly with me in your arms
take me somewhere new
we could be ravens
watching the sunset turn our feathers to flame
walk with me now, take my old hand
I don't think you ever did tell me your name

After many near misses
sweet thunderbolt kisses
explode upon my lips
heady molten sips
which burn me
turn me to matchwood
incendiary splinters
ashes of desire
a willing victim of flame and fire

You face the window
I face the door
back to back
not speaking
hardly touching
no loving arms to say goodnight
no loving lips to greet the morning
the only thing we do together
is sleep

Your blue eyes
saw only sunflowers
painted smoky shades of living truth
frail petals fallen from your artists hand
lay upon the canvas
when sanity became a foreign land
what we failed to understand
you had a lust for life
it's true
we never saw it eating you

Those who the sea shall take
will be flowers
wave borne blossoms
petals of memory
do not wither
as do blooms on land
we think of them
each rolling tide
that gently kisses sand

Take the long road
walk in the woods
feel the grace of trees
consider each winding turn
bees hum
plainsong in the heather
drowsy as the passing day
do not wave
make the final corner
close your eyes
and rest

Once afraid
I turned my coat from the world
wore it inside out and hid away
showed the lining dull and grey
I did not want the world to see
that rainbow coloured other me

Winter's burning sun
fell into the dark water
I could not catch it

Melting sun
flows
red to gold
blushing gushing pink
on crimson purpled crows
no leafy waving trees
or clouds of white
to tame its spare and radiant glory
winter sunrise
tells a very different story

I slipped
through a crack in the world
rolled down the bank
and lost myself
among the bottles
and discarded papers
you, a collector of trash
found me
and made me useful again

Drifting
on an ebb tide of confusion
which flings me up beach of myself
then rolls me down to the roaring ocean
before I have time to think that I may at last be saved
the dear dear grasp of reality
slippery through my tangled fingers
is lost to the maw of the waves
pitched and tossed in the blue
sky or surf
fish or floating plant
flotsam or jetsom
I do not know
It is a seaweed day

Fat shiny pebble
Bright jewel on golden sand
Dries dull in your hand

Dream with me of the beach
hold me as we glide
in tempo with the tide
let us dance
let us tango
a lyrical fandango
like it always used to be
just for you and me
passion unrefined
when I wake up i'll find
sandy footprints on my mind

Flowers will bloom in battlefield mud
amid army boots and battlefield blood
a robin will chirp on a battlefield wire
joined by others in a battlefield choir
except for the camps
where no bird will sing
the silence of ugly is a terrible thing