Lapped

The words change
Not that love or nature
Are any less strong an influence

Although the form is affected by technology
As well as further external abstract restrictions

To break out of this mode
To search again for deep man words
May require the creation of unknown paradigms

I can see my fingers
Little else is self evident beyond
I can hear my shirt ruffle
Yet no sounds of air conditioning

I could think of precise moments
Delve instead into the beauty of emotions
I could tell of power interruptions
Yet sell instead the rights to curious commotions

Aircraft engines are louder in the silence
Joyful conviviality is drowned out
By the absence of light or movement
The shadow-puppets loom with menace

Darkness knocks at my door
Holds herself steady by my window
In the quiet yard a candlelit conversation

Available on Kindle

Reverence

Every day a colour
Even when that colour is black
All of time to cover
You know he is not coming back

Brotherly love
In the diner queue
The days move on
With Irish stew

Every day a colour
Even when that colour is black
No point mistreating her
In the roadside lovers shack

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Slip

I was scrambling on a mountain side in England's Lake District. It was one of two ways that I had found into the bar of an Open University summer school. I had made the trips several times already but on each occasion I found myself back on the mountainside.

A party of Americans approached, they asked if this was the only way; before I could answer I felt a rock slipping, I screamed at them to get out of the way. Calmly I took hold of the sliding slab, I steadied it's progress, then slowly guided it to rest, against and between two, more solid, outcrops.

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Human Dream

All of humanity
In the shirt not ironed
& the hair unbrushed

All of humanity
In the smiling eyes
& the schoolgirls crush

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Travelled

All of hope
Where waters part
To observe the joke
Through the viewfinder
Of life's twisted periscope

Available on Kindle