Ripples fade in still night,
Pebbles thrown sink slowly.
The milky eye sailing the heavens
Through the Dark Angels gale
Twins the one mirrored,
Binds the celestial
To the soil of Man.
Ripples fade in still nights, flung
Into the four rivers of Time
Pebbles search for home. In
The Garden,
The Mountain,
The Tree
Pebbles search for rebirth,
Ablutions &
Obtuse obfuscations
To liberate the languid words
– a divine rebirthing
A house of cards in autumn storm
I wait for all to fall
into a hand that once was dealt
in hope to preserve their fate.
A beacon shines upon a shore
to welcome and to warn
the weary weary wanderers
finding their way ashore.
Of all the cards I cannot be
the wind has left for me
a single kiss upon a treehouse
nailed beyond my reach.
A house of cards in autumn storm
I climb on creaking ladders,
I see them fall and find their place,
the lighthouse gently guiding
but the kiss – is out of reach.
Love is sparse, the last lingering leaf falls
on frozen ground, the last worm wrestles
an apple clinging on.
Love is sparse, the firstborn contemplates
the subsequent’s success at soaring
falls like wet snow on wet snow.
Love is sparse, decades of lost embrace
a starved silent daze throws the mind
into deadly deliberation and doubt.
Love is sparse, the fall of fall
leaves piles of leafs fit for worms
fit for worms wrestling.
Love is sparse, the last worm wrestles
an apple clinging the dying branch
of summer.
Love is sparse in this world
where snow no longer falls
– to embrace us.
Too long I’ve walked this earth, searching
for another escape, another door
opening.
Too long I’ve searched this earth, seen
doors invitingly ajar yet passing
for pastures of allure.
Too long I’ve seen this earth, alienating
me and my mind from all other kind
of beings.
Too long I’ve memorised my earthly ventures,
and seeing now the setting sun
recalling only the broken ones:
the flashbacks of an attempted life,
the horrors in others’ eyes; my hollow darkens
as the stars rise to their final salute
a mock tribute
to a life too long lived
– in avoidance
How long
How far
How deep
How high
is the ledge I keep jumping off
will I sink this time
from the shore can I swim unaided
can I hold this breath of mine
Too high for birds to soar
Too deep for fish to swim
Too far to find another shore
Too long to ever consider another
V for Victory
Odd some would say:
even under barren blue skies,
floating golden eyes,
I picture a life on the bum;
to bum about without purpose
without sight,
a vagrant once victorious
hugging tiny tree stumps
and licking bark for breakfast.
Though most fantasies fail to ignite
this forest will burn, the rage turn
from silent idleness
to idle silence.
A sunburned bum
licking the boils
of the mindless proliferation
of madness — V for Victory
& woe.
I am marginal,
over a testy tundra
one mind of clouds linger.
I am marginal,
morally toxic thoughts
crack the egg of salvation.
I am marginal,
slithering across the melting ice
snakes progressing evolution.
I am marginal,
beyond the battleground of boredom
I wave at birds passing by.
I am marginal,
bowing to every whispering wind
and the caw of crows.
Vegetable mood: turnip thoughts,
deep pulsations in his trifling mind;
the untenanted scull
shelters no roving rumination,
no brown sauce to cover the spuds
part cooked, part fried, part covered
in lard, oh the lard, the drippings
from the gods’ last bard
need a bitter brew to follow;
to swallow
all
is to swallow
the bitter and the sweet, the sour
and the creamed
the dreamed left
– to simmer.
Vegetable mood: turnip thoughts,
the last slice, the last dice
of carnivorous carnage
chained to the cage of history,
never again to become
– the story.
