At The End Of The World

nineteen miles from Malibu
ten million years from here
i’ll sit and watch the last sun fall
at the end of Santa Monica Pier
and ride the carousel once more
before it turns to rust
with candy floss for dinnertime
as ashes burn to dust.

5-7-5 (take two-hundred-and-seventy-five : sentence)

take me inside you
let me remain imprisoned
until my release

Writing Cold

this rhyme is held in permafrost
so I can write no more
before the warmer kiss of spring
wakes it to its thaw
until then it sleeps suspended
and dreams of April’s days
to bring life to its destiny
and breath to its final phrase

A Little Rime About Moss

the verdant moss stands still
or so it always seems
waiting for a stone to roll
into its lonely dreams.

5-7-5 (take two-hundred-and-seventy-four : jazz)

let my fingers play
major chords along your thighs
improvising jazz

Up In Snowy Poetland : an open ended nonsense rhyme which will likely never find its end.

Up in snowy Poetland
the trains don’t run on time
because each station’s timetable
by order, has to rhyme

at ten past six each morning
the first express train runs
but doesn’t leave the platform
at least ’til half past one.

Up in snowy Poetland
for education’s sake
the local college campus
is built from angel cake

that a pastry chef from Paris, France
was architect for schools
is likely the main reason
all the students there are fools.

Up in snowy Poetland
a walrus is the mayor
his chief of staff’s a carpenter
(is there a reference there?)

and council meetings make no sense
in fact they often fail
with points of order hammered home
without the use of nails

tbc.

Heart

I’ll hold this heart beyond the count of days
the fates in wisdom have set out for me
and though the measure stands unknown
this heart’s way is only meant for thee

Unfinished Dream

old fish cakes
and belly aches
chased me through the night
into the arms,
and suspect charms
of an unexpected sight
a shoddy king
with shiny rings
hugged and kissed me so
and ‘fore i woke,
the words he spoke
I didn’t want to know.

my love, you’ve died
his tears belied
for never did he weep
I took your dreams
and wiped them clean
when you were prone asleep
you’re now bereft
for I am death
the king of all that’s born
and now you know
so you must go
away from thoughts of dawn.

Song for my own personal amusement in a key upon which I’ve yet to decide.

the conscience of my childhood daze
was played on wooden spoons
by happy wooly spiders
itsybitsying cross the room
the form it took, a ballad pure
sung in sunny smiles
and if your hair is flared enough
i’ll sing it for a while…

ohhhhhh…

don’t put your hand in the fire
and never jump off a house
and if it’s long life you aspire
be sure not to swallow a mouse
don’t pull a face in a windstorm
and never eat cakes in the rain
but get out of the bath ‘fore the plug’s pulled
or you’re bound to be sucked down the drain.

sha la la la lee.

The Monkey & The Leopard

the monkey and the leopard cub
cuddled in my bed
they didn’t like it at the zoo
so they came to me instead
and settled into a routine
of different household chores
they hoover and do ironing
and polish with their paws
but when it comes to cooking tea
or making cakes and such
their bestial abilities
don’t stretch to that too much.