I – Rain Over the Dying Empire
The Weather Forecast looks grim today
This mess won’t clear up any time soon
So button up your jackets and turn up your collars
And mark up your calendars for a time of grey skies
There’s a storm on the way
We’ll all be blown away
The reign will never end
Until we’re washed clean off the map
But don’t you worry darling viewers
Just find yourselves a shelter, you’ll be fine
Don’t go scrambling in the smog to find hope: it’s always there
It pains me to be the bringer of bad news
Oh! Dearest Public I always pride myself in saying Tomorrow will be a brighter day
But oh! My friends I also promised I would never lie to you
We have serious weather warnings on the way
They will ravage your livelihoods but don’t let them take your souls
We stand strong against the tide of the oncoming gale, the hail and the thunder
If they weather away each tiny bit of all you hold dear
Raise your fist to the angry sky and scream for what is right
I promise, one day, sunshine will be legal again
I’ve tried to make you laugh and I’ve tried to make you cry
But it’s difficult when describing the movements of cold air across the land
If you ignore the hot stuff blowing out of parliament these days
It’s possible to force a smile: a fraction of happiness for hollow promises
They know nothing of how to save the world, they just want to escape
They’re harvesting the strong so they can find another home
Sure, they bejewel their guillotine as it hangs above your throat
Because they think that you’re impressionable but my advice is let them think so
Because Nature wants out of the pact she made when God abandoned us here
And they just want revenge because she’s stronger than they’ll ever be
The Mother they used to love, that they cast down, has come to kiss them with her poison passion
She won’t ask for their forgiveness as she beats them down, begging for hers
I’ll leave you with my darkest secret since you probably won’t see me again
As they surround me I want to let you know it’s been incredible
Striding through the desert carrying you upon my shoulders
And so I’ll thank you and blow a goodnight kiss to you
If there’s anyone they’ve left alive
They have finally come for me
Goodbye

II – The Broken Figurehead Speaks
We interrupt this broadcast with a message from the high command
Good evening noble people, please ignore what you have just heard
And keep on working for our greater good
For as we all know, it is better than theirs
Regrettably, my tolerance is thin for behaviour like that of our darling Weather Reporter
And my mercy is negligible for those who stand against us…

III – Martyrdom for Sunshine**
As I stand above the ocean, with the army at my back, looking out at this sunset
It feels like the first time I have seen such beauty
Though waves gallop into the cliff below there is a malleable peace
It penetrates to the deepest corner of my heart
As they load their guns and prepare to fire, I think of the others who they have killed
And how privileged I am to have the sun as the last thing I see
If God will have me I’ll happily join his angels now
I look down the crippled rock face to the water, miles below
What have I got to lose?
I’m going to learn to fly…

A sallowest silence drips,
drop  by  drop,
into open muddy palms

The ripple in the gathering cup
of hand, undulates within soul
like poignant ocean waves
eat away at the sands of time ,
just  below  where
a lighthouse beacon beckons
shining from someplace I can’t find

A hidden pathway
lies  untrodden
beneath a thousand
dew drop clad ferns ,
fronds bestrewn with autumn’s
befallen sleight of hand
swaddled in her fading
manifest guise

Where wild mushrooms
rise  blindly  from
resplendent darkness
beneath silken earthen moss ,
to teach the parables ,
how fleeting a moment passes

The moment enwrapped
in nature's solicitude ,
the  only  shelter
mother nature's own refugees
whom dwell in an ever fugitive
sense of belonging

Fallen Lichen scattered
like  wild  feathers ,
traces from a higher ground ;
sown bread crumbs
of  the  heavens ,
abandoned like slowly falling
snowflakes upon a labyrinth
coursing    beyond
emerald dank bejewel

Leading me willingly onward
beyond belated familiarity ,
exiled  void  of  affinity
a Trumpeter swan
in search of wapatos

The stone cold silent languor
rises  up  through
thickly grasping moss

Wind  stirs the ennui
with a breath of kindness ,
chilling a body in a soul
as cold as lonely stone ,
sheathed beneath
its hard yet fragile disguise

A twisted pathway
leading  somewhere  
I  yearn to follow ;
somewhere unknown
beckoning  from
deeply hidden hope
and its urgent calling

Somehow the uncertainty
of the path I am drawn
makes   me   feel
a  little  less  removed

Assured by the gentle touch
deeply rooted ancient earthen spirits ,
beyond doubt , I’m never alone
deep beyond wooded margin
Cocooned in creation’s sanctuary
mother nature’s own refugee ...



                                                          ­*wild is the wind

View finder
Take aim shoot perfectly framed just enough density light and darkness the equal in this life defines the frail enhances the strong
Bad will defend itself to the point good will win out by the images it renders in innocence and tenderness from polar opposites
Go forth seeking an ****** you could accidently stumble on to hidden paths of divine origin nature has an order that is never wrong
From the mist of a water fall a telling world can be beheld captured go without end many truths lie within a picturesque scene

In gentle rolling pastures time and dreams emerge softest breeze bequeaths dawn till dust shadows cradle light then night the light
Black tracks the light holds within gentle knowing observation’s keenest sight found between the fusing of the two as a whole
Slower expectation quieter revelation stirs under darkest subtle groaning beneath the cover awakes the wonder the spell so right
Tell of a truth the stars of splendor overhead bejewel the twisted journey fraught with surprise does not her heart ignite by quiet fire

These our memories soft as blades of grass we pass silently and quickly as fast as the shutter lets in the light we hold yesterday bound
Those we love have the permeate home in our heart and for refreshing thoughts they are viewed on walls and upon tables displayed
We make the most of what we have if only we had keener minds not freezing them know them as free what laughter would resound
We watch unaware the empty unspoken chair rings of bells within each chime the bower keeps the time until reunion in a higher clime

Their held in stillness for now they exude a power a touching swell rushes over us we honor their essence only a tear is right and just
Everything you are or possess or will ever have stems from daddy or mother you are earths promise and truth they always live
Hidden in streams so rare love flows unknown to shores unseen these bright waters flow in both directions they break as joy and trust
Feelings the conduit ever full ever widening magic wonder calls and is answered the touchstone the golden tome is pictures we hold

NEVER MIND WHAT THE ****** SHEEP ARE SAYING!

First sheep to second sheep:
"Maaaa!"

which with
subtitles on

comes out as
"He just hasn't got his grandfather's legs!"

Second sheep to first sheep:
"Baaaa!"

Thank God for subtitles
"No...nor the Sheedy stamina!"

And indeed I have
inherited none of these famous attributes.

I, a shortsighted
puny bookworm

not taking to
this cross-country running lark.

The famous runner doesn't run
in my side of the family.

Early morning spiderwebs
bejewel the furze bushes.

A cuckoo calls.
Sheep bleat.

I recite poetry
to the yellow furze

passing slowly by me
I madly in love with Hopkins' words.

"I caught this morning(puff pantpANT!)
morning's(aghhhhh!)glory...!"

"Oh jaysus...he's off on the poetry again!"
first sheep moans to second sheep.

"Poetry at his age..I just don't get it!"
Second sheep bemoans the fact.

I pay no attention to this
sheep commentary.

Hurl Hopkins
at the world.

Slog through the pain
and mud.

"Nothing is so
(gaspgASP!)beautiful as Spring -" I yell!

I become a dot in the distance
of this misty Curragh morning.

Run on into the blue
of these my teenage times.

"The descending blue; that blue is all in a rush          
With richness;"


"Bè bè" first sheep
to second sheep in Dutch.

"Meh meh!" second sheep
to first in Japanese.

So the sheep I see
are studying foreign languages.

But I don't hear them
and anyway

someone's turned
the subtitles off.

The petals lay on the marble table top in the garden patio droplets of rain bejewel the petals
Moist as the mourner’s eye she now immortal is beyond my knowing it as if you write with a
Lead pencil of strains of gold the steerage of a great ship slipped beyond earth’s earth bound
Harbor the lights are dim these peeping tiny wonders contain the exactness of the richest soul
The voice was textured velvet it spoke and then lingered longest on the heart’s ear where it
Reverberated gently down the corridors of the soul in quietude she can still be heard it’s heart
Felt there is no agony just pleasantries assuage with tiny burst of light that vanquish the dark
You can feel the softness of her soft free flowing hair you stop in amazement and realize you
Don’t have a care there is nothing to compare it with love bows down it pulls earth and sky low
You feel yourself slowing to accept these bestowing gifts the tangle of nature so rare leaves you
Left staring this uncommon daring life proceeds beyond the vale the void immerses you in
Liquid joy the window rattles in the wind blown storm and you find comfort in this uncommon
Character you spill out the door and follow the wondering wind her essence imbibes your
Conscious and unconscious knowing you have found the spring of everlasting water it gently
Flows from Heaven above and she rides its crest intact in the total entirety of being and
Thought the wasteland dissolves as paradise further advances at each place it touches magical
Electric vibrant and alive all you have to do is walk to the table and with mortal fingers pick up
And tenderly handle the petals and the cage of death will open its dark closed door will
Immediately brighten with the soul immortal you will stand at the threshold of glory there you
Can commune with lost love

Moon,
drench me in December.
       Feed me the briar,
Trail the icicles of gravity
       down my spine.
Ground me in this
       hardened
      dormant soil.
Give me witch hazel flowers
      sprouting from my hair.
Adorn me with Yule's gown
      of brown
      and gray.
Speckle my eyes with
      Mercury's shadow,
Give me Owl's voice,
      Crow's rigid
                   wing.
Bejewel my crown of dried
      Oak leaves
With Taurus' red eye
          Aldebaran,
Beetlejuice, and Andromeda's
                   armspan.
Embellish me with a solemnity
         of solitude
So that my soul can sing
in these hours
        of renewal.

Where does one begin to describe your grace?
A cosmic entity, an enigma.
The moon is not unlike your eyes;
Lovers quaint gaze up in admiration,
Powerful enough to raise up the tides.
Roses may wilt, but you are immortal
In the minds of many who were enticed so.
A force of nature- the sun, rain, moon, wind,
You have mystifying excellence.
Flowers bejewel your hair, stars on your skin,

It's weird how he intrigues me
his soul seeming to be the embodiment
of all that blows through the windy corridors of my mind.
He embarks on steep conversations ascending a hill of knowledge,
each book, film, album, poem a step ahead of me.
Many steps ahead of me.

As I sit. In my little pool of melancholy. Watching the undulating water as each drop of despair, sadness or lamentations contribute to the waters.

In his presence I feel lost
yet brilliantly terrified.
Perhaps it comes from the knowledge that he would never love me.
Or perhaps the puzzelment, why me?
Why would he even want to spend his precious time with me

As he climbs the hills of conversation
Yelling down heroes, countries, capitals that he has learnt by heart, by name, by creed.
That he has revelled in for all these by-gone years.

I feel myself shrinking back into the corridors of my mind.
Closing the doors.
Staring at myself in the mirror.
What? Who am I?

And here he is.

Sharing his carefully curated version of reality with me. Pulling the stars down from the sky to bejewel his crown of thoughts.

And I. I. I go back into the sadness that knows me so well.
My own coal grey cloud to crown my head.
My sleepy, windy head.

If you could do anything.
I'd catch you plucking at the twilight.
Dipping you contour brush in nebulae, you'd paint your eyeline with a skyline...  You'd bejewel your accessories with quasars spinning in quartz's and supernova sapphires and... your eyes would shine with star light...

If you could do anything, You'd sequin your extremities with snowflakes. Pattern your skin with the shine from the sunrise and you'd refract yourself into the world around you. You'd dye you hair like the northern lights... Stand still in squalls just so you could emulate its animated shimmer. Against the back drop of the night you'd glimmer. But that wouldn't be enough... You'd go to any length drown your frame in beauty.

If you could do anything, You'd steal the sensation of rain drops disturbing roof tops and overdose on an feeling of shelter from the storm. All attempts to subdue your high would met with scorn.  You'd break off the part of you that caused concern. You'd burn the
service receipts of ever shoulder you'd had to cry on. You'd outsource your own insecurity. Any obscurity to your character would be shot dead on discovery. You'd invade your own humanity and pillage it of difficulty.

If you could do anything you'd bargain with calendar just for a couple more days to avoid doing something. You'd fashion your words into hurdles and litter the ground with more and more reasons to fall. You'd talk yourself out breathing because the threat of suffocation is less intimidating than the thought of persisting.

You are swallowed by your own ideals. You're drowning in the hope that you can live like a statue, staying ever beautiful as time crumbles away at your stone. You're begging for someone to save you from yourself.

If I could do anything. I'd pay you a token of gratitude for every imperfection you're still convinced I don't treasure. I'd write sick notes to your anxieties to inform them that you need time to get better, and in that time we'd strategize. Make a battle plans for a better life and show you how to fight.

This is your battle, Not mine. But it hurts to see you struggle, hurts to watch heartache eat away at your smile. Hurts to watch demons blow raspberries in the reflection of every tear drop.

It hurts to ask if you're okay...

I know
my mother is not proud of me
when I change my hair
bejewel my face
or tell her about the newest boy.

I am my mother’s daughter,
and we have made so many of the same mistakes.

I hope
my mother is proud of me
when I get a nice job
in the tallest building in the city
wear nice clothes
and sell my soul
to become another piece
in the people’s machine.

You can’t bejewel my mood,
Or glitter bomb my experience.
For my inner darkness consumes,
That turns love to violence.

You can’t wash away what’s permanent,
Or paint over to hide the cracks,
For my temperament reacts,
Like some uncontrollable experiment.

You can’t fix what you can’t see is broken,
Or use glue or tape to build a foundation,
For my trauma corrodes,
The attempts towards betterment.

You can make a diamond from coal.
Only if it can handle the pressure.
But my hearts already been crushed,
Becoming nothing more than sediment.