Fox
To wit to woe
the owl sees all
on promises or lies
the fox has just one life
each breath a prize
he doesnt realize
Voices in the dark
The bogus man
He dances in his marionette
while the world seems blue
the wooden face, a nemesis
a mind to move his stick of paper and glue
I know this wind it waits on me
it knows me , I held it close when like you
the poems are not me
alone in a bed of fantasy
the horrors of a word
no broken bones or bruise
love done in a shameful hour
no weapons or bloody souls at hand
that prowl with sharpened claws as cats
just a murder here and there
a scowl seen as better,, more fool them
unjust punishment for loneliness
never on stage does blame lie in contempt of the mime
barren musky breath from above, like a beacon or a mascot of cruelty
close to sterile wards of death at old age
righteous deeds nor moral wrongs take place
holes for the dead just two feet across
cruel lies from bibles, read at our face
pissed on graves and a mother's fair child beckoned to
a woman dressed to kill for a blind race
reminders of the chains that bind men that go wild
demanding the ropes be tight and breath gone
he hangs them in a land of frail ungodly gods
a brother, a man, neither red nor blue, the simple violet child remains
is that all he is, that burning chariot of desire
bearing down on her, wild sweating horses all three mounted
no name no place that knows him
never free
Téméraire
Goodbye, that difficult word
sombre while spoken once to shed the tear
the distance great that sped you away from here
its change is in the air of time
I watched the many hug and cry
parting with eye to eye
holding onto them as they sigh
lips that part moist with fears
when again that train appears..
to bring them back
unless fate interferes
A thought of me, maybe
When no more ..
you will sigh, as must
and children grow to the sky
leaving you to look for love and life
and shelter comes from a broken home
winter solace and summer sombre
then a red dress in mourning you will wear for me
shall I be in spirit there
to haunt the mandolin, you sing to
my thoughts of the stem of foxglove and a badger's lair
as clover waves to you, you stare past
then linger on the step
..a thought of me
maybe
Baggage
Walking through the dark
long strides ,not looking
the eyes on me
burning, the smell
my thoughts are of her and sex
the paint is dripping from my thoughts
I said goodbye to the car
the men stared, some cried
drones on, so far down now
dont want to look up
the dirt is shovelled
the still oily colour running on soft fabric
with flowers ,moons and blues
cobalts in tubes ,fingers pressed softly in
sounds like moons colliding
holes and craters
a wasted planet like ganymede
dead and rock at seasides
sepia or sanguine ,in shadow
the doors close and father looks at me
it is shining in the dark, windows hiding them
couldnt make out the colour now,
its driving away
and quiet dawns
I can paint at last
Two minds
What mind is this you talk with today
it said goodbye in a yesterday
that insulated premise hides away
the other protects what you say
are all your falsehoods washed by it
are the games you play forfeit?
I think not
one rule for you and one for it
from light to light you run and hide
dark between reality you abide
or swim in shallows far and wide
in childhood dreams you cry
on clouds you talk to the dead
two minds that argue over what was said
in moral light you make one mind
in other you scorn its finds
brother sister all in one
mother and father, with a gun
fallen angels, deadly plants
leaves than drain out the lance
that searches for your kind
on corners everywhere you see him
that man, the thane of love
running from his casual glance
a worried mind by chance
on the knife edge you love to live
that penury that split you in two
it takes its pound of flesh from you
Blake
Call me Blake, I am here
with magical horoscopes, I escape from myself
blooms that fall on grace litter my floor
devils are not religious
an edifice of writing words that mean nothing
callings to me take too long
she painted the pain in a song
write that vision for me
somnambulist
A door
Men are born in a day
ghosts of a still born
eating flesh and hell on earth
lines of smoke in recoiling drifting plumes
place to place we run and hide
trees burning for ships that never sail
robbing the hood blind
then sell me and a woman with a heart
in childbirth, we satisfy none that care
the Herod mark that way, we stare
my door so old a play
for the poor no law
no one to hear me say
go away
