I am running out of words
like an angler on the bank,
trying every lure and bait
to cast and pull you in.
Stood on trampled ground,
where full of net has been
and scratching furrowed
brow to second guess the
wind.

I see bob and weave below
the surface of the pond,
spying ripples on the turn,
and the places they begin.
But there’s no rise of water,
or breaking in the spray.
So now I leave this seek and
strive for paddled shadows
of your fin.

Ah well, if not this evening,
I can wait for another time.
A new approach, a subtler style
and I may yet haul you in.

Some days,
it’s just great
to tilt your head and
let the thoughts drop out.
Listening to the hollow
thud of your own ideas,
tumbling aimless to
the floor. It’s nice
to contemplate the joy
of mindlessness, befuddled
for awhile in a break from
knowing. Every now and then,
taking time out to let all
puddles of intellect drain
from the dome of your mind,
just so you can floss inside.
Embrace the vacumned logic
of perfect dumbness and taste the
sweet soma of its purity. It’s OK!
There’s something wise to be
learned in the beautiful blankness,
and somnolent stupor - the timeless
cleanhanded truth of saying;
‘I just don’t know’.

You

ask about

relationships,

of what or whom

we are, but all I’ll say

of this, is that there is

only ever one. I reveled in

the promiscuity of multitude

enthralled, but always lonely

though, until you captured me

in fall. Know that I love you

- all of you. And ask again

of us, and maybe I will

call that none is lost

and all is found.

For there is

only ever

you
.

Be by my side for seasons roll
astride the years of timeworn hold
you are the handmade measure of my way
moth eared wise but sometimes frayed.

Threadbare in the dogged scuff of life,
your comforts molded from familiarity
are the very things that calm and settle me
through step of many weathered days.

Our strong stitched path across these years
has formed the jagged shape and fold
of how we cleave this journey made.
For we are old companions in the ride.

From the footprints of where we’ve been
through the stumble of the here and now,
to the strides of what we may become,
my feet are chained without you.

It’s open,
come straight in.
I’m behind the threshold,
waiting for you to fall upon
the fate of who we should be.
Bring nothing but yourself
and I will gaze in sublime hold
of white light beauty and
the ocean of your eyes.
There is only one flame I see
in the dark - and it is yours.
Take a step and come inside.
I am waiting
for you.

I saw the red steam rising
and thought of ways to circumvent
the climbing vapour of your despise.
A means to stop the angry mist
from settling on unlucky souls
like acrid, airborne aerosol.
But shoots of spray stay powerful
no pressure drop - or cause to stop
when flow is locked and discharge blocked.
You need to learn, to slowly turn
and open up the valve.

Goodbye Supergeek,
you have lost your domain
but long may your downhill logic
stay dudish in its bank and curve.
White collared, polite in line
where T-shirts once yelled loud,
may you surf across the brown stuff,
steady in the slalom of the day.
As an afro king, in climb and dive
the chocolate wristed compromise
and breaks of comfort’s creed,
are not for those like you.
Your Ninja wheels crave more
than a two foot curbstone ride -
but Kung Fu cool stays strong,
thrilled in jump - however high.
So long may you somersault
through the pinstripe hoops
and air conditioned flames,
leaping mundane ground
of office ramp and rail.
For you, are Supergeek!
and your magnet feats of awe,
draw raptuous applause.

Now you’ve planted flowers
you’ll have to watch them grow.
Earthbound spirits in the border
of patient ground, sown in craving
sun with gentle rain to nurture.

Nature’s growing pains find solace
in your care of wonder’s veins
and shoots of tenacious youth,
audacious too, find climb to bloom
through cold wax clay.

So tend loam and budding spears
pierce winter’s call to arms of time.
Watch over the flowers that you grow,
energised by noble reaching limbs
together - in beauty’s rise.

Ah, what fascination!

I see the whole world, in carriage
No. 9, chicken stacked on shunted track
awkwardly aligned by destination
as footfall clunk and rhythm of ride.
Out of my window, stop-motion towns
like snapshot blink and snatch
assembled strobelights in the blur
from greenhill up and down
to grey high rise and logo crown.
But seated linear in the curve of life
I see without look, know without feel
feigning sleep for fear of settled gaze
or locking eyes and furtive glance.
I want to steal words of muted commune
to rustle the headlines of everyday lives
but I’m quietened in thievery of thought
whilst a pinched announcer interrupts.

Do you see the Shadow Man?

He hopes for change.

Today, as I stand
here readied to speak
to suits and polished hosts
and aisles smiling hopefully.
I am earnest and they are them.
All fixed gazed in quiet attention
of who knows whom and how
(and why and when and where).
To my air conditioned audience
all card pressed intersection
my whisper now turns full voiced.
I step up to the platform and smile;
“Hello” I say.

“My name … is immaterial”

My words found here
swing like rusty chains
snaking from boat to anchor,
all reeled and spooled
then rattled into shape.

Each link - an utterance
through mud and silt
crying resolute but timeworn,
as iron against the ancient
clawing salt of tide.

Many things I’ve said
are hard to pull aboard
this small ship seeking
departure for currents bold
of faster, deeper seas.

But steadied - as now
through connection’s bond
in multitude of wisened strength.
I speak, and feel - these words.
Heaved by a crew of many.

Here fall stars from lover’s robe
raining down on earthbound foil.
In monarch cloak of night are we
as light above sublime.

Let us navigate these skies
bewitched by rapture’s satellite
for here we chase the dust
of a thousand million moons.

Just hold out your hands
… and fly.

The neck of a cigarette
all shimmer and promise
straw dry in the stifle
of the hottest day.
It pretends, to shade
char of stone-dry bones
ripened under heat
from waring sun.
Mirage of sweetened air
and slow blood cooled,
the lead footed and weary
follow this shadow’s lure.
Today, I imagine this false wind
and curl up as old parchment
to stop myself inhaling
the tinderstick splinters
of its powdered air.

You are the genius slacker,
all denim words silk lined.
Life’s audacity out on show
our roadkill for the day.
For us of average ways
and those who fear to know
the purity of your dudishness,
black coal diamond in the snow.
Long may the dudicity
of your wisearsed goodness,
and your smartcracked world
stay cool and prosper well.

I
am
vain
to think
these words
might resonate.
All pride misplaced
in the done but not the
doing. Technique is never
mystique, and clever words
alone are not enough to speak.

So let us both agree, to watch these words unfold anew.

In the being, in the seeing,
placed in the now - life’s
glorious nothingness.
Layed out for view
and framed by the
mystery of next
- the point of
fellowship,
between
you
&
I

Thine atom,
in contemplation.
The flow you crave is found inside
by calm stillwater, in quiet ebb.
As crystaline scintilla on the folded swell
of glacial ripple and listless tide.
Within you must wait.

It grows stronger.
Purified, closer to the source.
No sediment, just clarity.
Every turn of the sun,
adding puposeful gravity,
to its calibrated flow.
Gently guided, filtering slow.
Watchful of energy refined,
like a wild forest stream,
cutting through mountains.
Our love distilled.

Who is yearning?
He says to me.
Is it you?
Asks I of he.
But who is you?
He questions I.
“You are learning”
is my reply.

From aching bone to wisdom come,
all hear this ode of heartened mind.
From bridge of high to soul entwined,
like skipping stones of life aligned,
from stumble creep to giant step,
I sense a journey come to end.
As life reels in and thoughts contend,
to follow more than age descent,
my hours in creation’s land
all plot my path to puzzles solved.
From clay of doubt to tread resolved,
these old roads traveled can still evolve!

We yearn
the warm flicker
of her anodyne way.
Between tomorrow
and today - she is,
the sopor to ease all.
She carries us over
deep tribulation thrall,
helping us rise above
the sluice of discontent.
She comes to tighten the
night hatches of our eyes,
with their ever hopeful
hinges of slumber,
so we may look
within.

O glory!
Says the sky.
As it reaches to circle,
luminous arms around
green satin down and
poplar spire.
A parliament of trees
awaits its governence -
all nature’s capilliaries
aligned to embrace
the touch of origin.
The chorus lungs of oak
or elm, even hedgerow root
in readiness to sing -
to praise with ardour free,
be joyful in verdancy.
But soldied corn of man
does not hear such
ancient melodies.
Of scratched horizon
and of grey grip of our clan,
or bread and blood and
landscape chalkhill carved,
the sky says
nothing.

If life is like a table
then its legs are self belief.
We balance what we are able
from falling underneath.
Sometimes stacked and tidy,
othertimes just a heap,
to keep our substance stable,
is our primary relief.
This platform that we care for,
on plinths of warp and creep;
life’s every level moment,
its achievements all too brief.

The teenage interface.
Neon bright, electrified,
click happy, button savvy,
always on-demand.

Instant downloadable culture,
ergonomically designed,
anything and everything,
- just press go.

Navigated by impatient hands,
left and right - now zero and one.
Hypertrophied digits,
mutating.

Be aware,
the game called real life,
may not run
on this device.