Sunday, April 22, 2012

A Constellated Mesh

My thoughts are garbled
muddled in their concern
they have failed to find… connections
to feed…… the stream of mind.
 But if I walk….. away
will they ever find – those words
which fit between the lines
and help me see….
the light before the grey.
So now I sit ~~~~ tangled in this chair
a constellated mesh….. of disconnected dots
like little grains of sand – without a pearl
or a man….. lost in moments
thoughts…… which cannot stand.

Monday, April 9, 2012


A short walk along a creviced wall
reminds me – of the sheer enormity
of the fractures beyond the seams
these divisions, which divide us all.

Coloured gaps – of paint and spackle
puttied joints of politics and bonds
heartbeats which flutter –
words – gavels without a sound.
Stop and listen – to the wind on hills
these trees with shallow roots
that topple down the streets
and homes, build upon the land
collapse – as the framework snaps.
Underneath the rubble sits
these barren stones of time
a painted picture – of humanity
forgotten lessons of our time.

How Dangerous

How dangerous….. is your mind
when you play with us
talking in circles
just so you can wrap me up
with your long fork tongue
it’s a magicians rope
which I can’t untie
and run away
from those red lips of yours.

How dangerous… is your mind
when you’re serious
when you’re bound to me
how dangerously sublime
when your serpent tongue
inspires me.

When it’s four o’clock
and the streets are bare
the church bells are ringing
that it’s way past three A.M.
but your tongue is still telling me
all these stories
which make my hair stand on end.

How dangerous… is your mind
when you’re serious
when you’re bound to me 
on a four post bed
will you tell me all your lies
or will you talk in circles instead.

Monday, April 2, 2012

What is Friendship

What is friendship
but a fragile flower
born from the earth
it sprouts towards the sun
but does it stand
when the darkness sets.

The colour of the petals
above the thorn
and below the leaf
a bounty of your heart
or red blood drips
a false rose, yet defined
which blooms to grief.

But your fragrance
is the perfect friend
such imperfections
that bend my life to you
this is my friendship
and the beauty of my colours
are for you.

Sunday, April 1, 2012

Back Home

I have no idea what inspired this, other than the first line, but the entire write was completed without pause and under 30-seconds; regardless, it’s a poem:

A vacant lot
a piece of ground
within my soul
no path to lead me
nowhere to go
the question is
who will come
to save me
show me all the gates
that surround
and all the locks
to let me go
but who will plant the flower
to let the others know
that I was here
deep within this ground
but then I found a way –
back home.