You have gifted me
A deeper depth of darkness
You have made our distance
Ever more distant
As though the void itself
Was insufficient
You have drawn up
The drawbridge
Yet my reflex response
Will be a deeper depth of feeling
Yes, my instinctive reaction
Will be to overcome the difference
Indeed, as though
To enter that void
With my core drill, and sickle
To harvest the new despair
Monday, 5 March 2018
Sunday, 4 March 2018
Over The Promenade
As if a symbolic act
Quite the opposite
To The Moon On The Water
Or to be on the beach at sunrise
They themselves now metaphors
Or at any rate accompaniments
To the closing of the door
To the ending of the line
Was it wilful, destructive
A sinister imperative ploy
Is it sinful, instructive
The end to unbridled Joy
Quite the opposite
To The Moon On The Water
Or to be on the beach at sunrise
They themselves now metaphors
Or at any rate accompaniments
To the closing of the door
To the ending of the line
Was it wilful, destructive
A sinister imperative ploy
Is it sinful, instructive
The end to unbridled Joy
Saturday, 3 March 2018
Sound Bath
Could I write of the lost worlds
Would that be those worlds
Which are never to return
Could I spurn the chance to proffer
What it seems, has been and gone
What is now dark, yet once which shone
Might I offer good times, and better times
Memories of whence we bounced along
To the rhythms of the old Tibetan gong
Would that be those worlds
Which are never to return
Could I spurn the chance to proffer
What it seems, has been and gone
What is now dark, yet once which shone
Might I offer good times, and better times
Memories of whence we bounced along
To the rhythms of the old Tibetan gong
Friday, 2 March 2018
Set Aside
The dark light of distance
Arrives around noon
Brought on in this instance
By yesterday evening’s moon
As the schooners set sail
With their sails raised high
No future to fail
Naught to sell, or to buy
As the roses wobbled
And the double doors creaked
The old man hobbled
While the youngsters streaked
The mind in space
Or at least halfway still
Twisting the lace
Of the wandering will
Though the heavens do help
More than ever you know
Harvesting the kelp
For winters to stow
Arrives around noon
Brought on in this instance
By yesterday evening’s moon
As the schooners set sail
With their sails raised high
No future to fail
Naught to sell, or to buy
As the roses wobbled
And the double doors creaked
The old man hobbled
While the youngsters streaked
The mind in space
Or at least halfway still
Twisting the lace
Of the wandering will
Though the heavens do help
More than ever you know
Harvesting the kelp
For winters to stow
Thursday, 1 March 2018
Worn
Another stone the distance
Another stone to hold closed the door
Although, in this instance
Another stone to begin the score
A bass stone, a treble stone
A water stone on which to pour
A trumpet stone, a cymbal stone
A sky stone on which to roar
A smooth stone, a rough stone
A callous stone, which says no more
A fondling stone, a feeling stone
A hopeless stone, hopeless at the core
A symphonic stone, a drone stone
A calling stone, laid down on the floor
A timbre stone, a chanting stone
A holding stone, hidden in the drawer
An echo stone, a dissonance stone
A flighted stone, for the song to soar
A tumbling stone, a rolling stone
A moss covered stone, I swear she swore
Another stone to hold closed the door
Although, in this instance
Another stone to begin the score
A bass stone, a treble stone
A water stone on which to pour
A trumpet stone, a cymbal stone
A sky stone on which to roar
A smooth stone, a rough stone
A callous stone, which says no more
A fondling stone, a feeling stone
A hopeless stone, hopeless at the core
A symphonic stone, a drone stone
A calling stone, laid down on the floor
A timbre stone, a chanting stone
A holding stone, hidden in the drawer
An echo stone, a dissonance stone
A flighted stone, for the song to soar
A tumbling stone, a rolling stone
A moss covered stone, I swear she swore
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