Drawing images in my head
That stub my pinky toe
In a race that will never end
Nor will I ever win
Thoughts are constantly passing by
I can barely keep up
But on rare occasions I do
It’s quite difficult though
I often need to medicate
Just to get my head straight
It’s moiling to complete a thought
And develop a plot
They slip my mind in a short time
Like having one’s a crime
When I expound an idea
I’m in a zone alone
And there’s nothing that distracts me
When they slip my fingers
As though my pen is like popcorn
My brain brews a storm
And I feel I’m the one to scorn
Needless to say, my thoughts
Are bipolar like north and south
And slip through crevices
But the thing that matters the most
My sanity stays sane
And my thoughts never become vein.

The wimpled scrolls recede....
The Authors of the braille sands
leave Northern marrow in their wording,
as sharp as Marram grasses bent
in keening subjugation....

Illuminated Sanskrit kelp,
infused with lust of fallen auras,
scrims the ****-green gartered breaks
now shaken from the glaucous mane,

while fleets of stippled cumuli,
( rain-chartered galleons of the West)
in line astern, prepare for war
beyond the deepened brim.

We,- the town-worn Pages- flutter,
drawn to trace the moiling hem,
to pour away into the water....

Salt-preened minions of the wind.

and I have loved you through all of our seasons tangled in the exhalation of our life, from the dawn that whispered your name to me in a secret it could not keep.



and I have loved you from the first and then in the shadows of lost yesterdays, where light refused to fade, and dreams danced on the edges of our shared possibilities.



and I have loved you though moiling in the smoky haze of the crowded world, the business of tedium made wondrous by division, the unexpected that you laughed at but challenged my soul.



and I have loved you through the twilight's golden touch, tracing the lines of our destiny upon the canvas of night, where every star had found its place in your eyes.



and you, the weaver of worlds unseen, the sculptor of the moon's soft glow, found in my embrace the solace of ancient shores, caught in the cradle of time.



and I have loved you in the quietude of evening's last light, carrying homeward the shared fulfilment of a day and a life, where every moment we breathed together our unity.



to the depths of a love that knows no boundaries, no end, but the endless embrace of forevermore, and I, a humble witness to your splendour, have held you close,



and I have loved you to your very bones.