Poems

 Frappuccino

​I am a coffee bean,

Browning in the sun

Ground into service for the tastes of modernity.

​I am a Starbucks.

A constellation of black stars, hidden in infinity.

Consuming, consuming.

Until

 I burst forth and rain down in a

big 

big 

BIG 

BIG 

VASTNESS OF COMFORT 

delighting the taste buds.

Stimulating!

Fizzing the whimsies that burn softly deep inside.

Germ Free Generation

A broken butterfly

Defies the call of age

Howling for satisfaction

As the butterfly decays

And Yes!  He brushes daily,

And Yes!  His breath smells nice.

For cleanliness is scared.

As widely advertised.

She sang of antiseptic.

She chanted Hare, Hare

With joy she rang the Celestial Bell,

yet fell into dismay.

She lived the dream.

She fought the dark.

She pricked the public eye.

And in her desolation she keened her last goodbye.

Hostage to Fortune

I own all this, the dream I built.

I own to the horizon and much beyond.

I stand above all, I answer to no one;

My shadow steals light from the darkest corners.

I trust only me.

My dream is so pure it denies all harm,

My intention so luminous it burns all objections.

My councillors are wise; I pay them well

for reflections

of my hopes,

of my desires.

I look well in their mirror.

It soothes my questioning mind;

It fades my doubts

into the banter of oblivion.

Behind my iron cage 

I hear the muffled playground laughing.

The stones and dust

 were never walls 

when I was young.

​A Reality Seldom Contemplated

​I hung back awhile, then gave up my space.

The yellow bright patch beckoned me,

and then I moved without a pause.

Down the welcome way, a sideway shift drew my

attention into a whole new world.

​A reality seldom contemplated. 

Stooped low I saw with the mind of a deer.

The fibrous, smooth arrows of green pointed out my way.

Through the tunnel of otherness, 

a parallel

map that charted a path of a creature's desires.

The Porridge Eggs of Barton

Early one morning, just as the sun was rising, 

I saw a steaming porridge pot in the blackened pan below.

Stirred by a village, the rolled flakes of imagination

mix into a slurpy gloop.

Below the creamy plains,

Below the salty marshes.

The oaty eggs of goodness congeal.

The song is mixed with equal care and spread

around with love.

The end transcends the means and the bowls are filled at last.

And hungry morning souls mill and mull and thirst

together in the rising dawn light.

WoW!

Wow!

This is cool

This is really cool

Wow!

This is cool

This is really cool

Wow!

Welcome day

The sun is shining!

Lets go out and play

Good Intentions 

Realities that tear apart.

Truth with no foundation.

I can make life dance and sing, in the shade of doubt.

You quell the song with every word.

You damp my soul with every glance.

I swear I try my best to not...

To not dance and sing.

I try to cast my eyes to earth to hide away from shame.

But the song cannot be contained no matter how I squeeze it in.

For to stop the song.

And freeze the dance.

Is to risk the days, to squander the place

that beckons, that whispers, "peek around the corner, new delightful failures call".

Yet, some failures cut fresh flesh, underneath the scars.

Good wishes often blow away.

The gale of fear prevails.

Do you stay to fight the wind, or flow in quiet solitude.

Drifting.

Thinking of what might have been.

The Storm

How do you experience a storm?

Do you look down at its terrifying boil,

witness to the surging transformation

of flat stillness into walls of water.

Are you lifted and held by the keening air,

disengaged from the drama and the murk?

Or

Are you tumbling in the dark heart

of that pummelling mass,

unable to see the steady light,

barely holding on.

Biding time.

Desperate for sanctuary?

Or

Are you striving to surf your precious moments,

exhilarated by the curving wake of rainbows,

only to come crashing down in a mangle of arms and legs,

then rising once more to turn and stroke the onslaught

for that one last thrill?

Perhaps

You aspire to be a seal,

free for a while of the grip of gravity,

working the deep and the dark with practised ease.

Biding your breath.

Until you break the surface a glistening torpedo,

and haul out among warm companions

who bask, and rest, and digest

the things you found below?

Five Types of Bird Call

I'm ok,

I'm ok it's morning time

I'm feeling gay.

Sod off, sod off,

give me a rest

the scary corvid wants my brest.

Get off my land,

stay off my birch,

I'm standing proud here on my perch.

I'm with you,

I'm on your side,

you're in my flight, you're by my side.

I'm hungry mum,

I'm hungry mum.

I'm feeling glum,

I need some grubs to fill my tum.

Momentum 

Keep moving,

You need fewer layers,

Keep moving,

Always keep moving.

Except when the trees

frame the sky

rest among the needles

until you move once more

the path lies through

the brambles, 

at least

you hope that's true.

Contemplation Circle

The sphinx, the intense, the

anguish, the anxiety, the

merry look.

The welly, the suede, the

Croc, the boot.

Each shoulder to shoulder

the circle is gathered.

So near, tendrils of

understanding begin to

intertwine.

Overhead the sun

evaporates the thought

worlds into a cloud of

confusion and structure.

And questions emerge like

stars, like cinders.

Solstice Dandelion Song

When the wild wind blows

The dandelion sows

That's how Dandelions

Spread

When the sun shines down

it wipes away a frown

That's how the Dandelions

spread.

WOLF ROCK

Grubby feet

Grubby hands

Itching calves

Sticky strands 

Sticky souls

Grabbing heat

Rushing onwards

To where we meet

Have I changed

I don't know

The call of the slower

The call of the flow

I see the beacon

Out on the sea

Maybe there

I can be me