Shades Of

The shadows sink more slowly
Than ever they did before
The dawn, it no longer gloriously rises
Rather it stumbles across the new morning

The figures, which once danced on the wall
Now stand statuesque, still as stone
The lampshade, which once cast its own likeness
Is now entirely within itself, muted

The long road to the river is monotone
As is the pony’s meadow, and the wilder moor
The dance floor, which once throbbed with urgency
Is well beyond the last waltz, emptied of all lust

The letters, once a before the morning ritual
Are no more, nor have they been for a long time
The smile, the bodily gesticulations; energetic, vibrant
Are now hidden from view, a clear avoidance of life

The dangers, once embraced without fears
Are now placed centre stage, to become restrictive
All ideas of ideas, of thoughts, and of movements
Are closed off, to dismiss the opportunities for change

The dilemma, for to be sure it is a real dilemma
Is how fine a line is the line, between love and hate
How discursive those once so so cohesive forces
How indignant now, of the need to silence the howl

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Intensify

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

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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

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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

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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

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