A string of burnished beads

With a pastel
Or a palette
Artist's card or canvas

An abstract creation
Of many colours
I opened the door

So slightly
A slit
Upon my simple thoughts

With mellow music
A soft guitar
Singer or a cowboy

Mystic collaborations
Of many others
I pushed the wedge

To edge my mind

Out west
A little firmer

With words
A pencil
A book of papyrus paper

Inkwell
With mottled blotter
A wish list

Dissertation
Of many schemata
Hinges undone

Door removed
To hang
In its place

A string
Of
Burnished beads




This poem is from the collection East of Lincoln Central available now on kindle - click on the text for details

Sense Of

More than ever the words are about me
Caught in a search that's fast losing its relativity
It would be good to walk on the moor in solitude
Stroll on the shoreline with a barefoot attitude
Learn the art of ungloved hawk control
Hand-wash dishes in super-warm soapy water


a poem from In & Out of Dream Space Love Embellished by Visitations click anywhere on the text for details

Passed beware

In real time
Or replayed past time
From High Peaks
To East of Lincoln Central

The flaxen fair
Is passed beware

To steal time
Or misplace a few moments
In absence
Or least of just apart

The flaxen hair is fair aware
The flaxen fair
Is almost there




This poem is from the collection East of Lincoln Central available now on kindle - click on the text for details

Devil of Disruption

I walk the streets, head down
Let me wallow
God let me feel sorry for myself
Before I read of the indisputable truth
Before I learn any more of the irredeemable I

These are not my walls, this is not my house
I am a guest
A veritable journeyman
The current luminaire, simply passing through
I will just be, I will move on, be one before the other





a poem from In & Out of Dream Space Love Embellished by Visitations click anywhere on the text for details

It is just an idea

Inside
The stone
No way to know

Of haystacks
Engulfed
In spontaneous combustion

There
Though the rain
Bounces off the flat flags

And the aircraft
Outside
Of the dust filled hangar

Where the late sun
Casts
Its long and lonely shadows





This poem is from the collection East of Lincoln Central available now on kindle - click on the text for details