Kites (an unfinished sketched idea for a poem)

when we first flew kites
upon the summer’s sighs
before the world turned to face
the dark of autumn skies
no cloud could reach our souls
that drifted with those sails
laughing along the breeze
on gaily coloured tails
but now the kites are lost
ne’er to glide once more
and just memories remain
with winter at the door.

The Shadow : a short fiction as prose

His shadow lived
a second life
seperate to his own,
each night
out of sight
when the light
disappeared
it would prowl
the golden pools
of reflected
refracted
street lamps
and closed store neon
hoping to catch
a new host
to feed upon
until the dawn.

5-7-5 (take two-hundred-and-sixty-two : perpetuitas)

in eternal fields
clad in fragrant asphodels
immutable rest

Cat’s Chorus, a nonsense song for felines written whilst listening to Bob Dylan.

let us sing of fancy fish
which dance around our dreams
and hold our thrall for hours
or so it always seems

oh let us sing of dining mice
feasting fat on cheese
riding round in horsedrawn traps
to save their creaky knees

and let us sing of big fat cows
a filled with milky cream
chewing cuddy bubble gum
upon the village green

then let us end our song like this
before the sun’s away
and curl up in a bundle
to sleep away the day.

fowl nonsense

what I thought was a duck in a rainhat
was in fact not a duck but a goose
which beggared the ultimate question
did it serve any practical use
as the weather is certainly clement
especially for gooses and ducks
so I asked “why you wearing that rainhat?”
“Oh I just like the way that it looks”

the passing thought

this thought new born
with ink and page excised
flew a moment
as a damsel
until in mem’ry died
only for this scribbled form
to raise its former soul
and warm it
in the sun once more
its history retold.

5-7-5 (take two-hundred-and-sixty-one : pillow thought)

the devil tempts me
with passions bright as the stars
heaven holds its breath

Tidal (unfinished)

she became a tsunami
a force of nature
unshackled.

Plates shifted
tactile and tectonic.

Submerged, I drowned
in her waves.

Birdsong

the sky sings the words
silently to the trees
whereupon the music
inherent in the leaves
is given to the birds
to become their songs

5-7-5 (take two-hundred-and-sixty : West Coast Dämmerung)

birds of paradise
folded wings in the sunset
the pacific smiled