5-7-5 (take three-hundred-and-seven : back story)

my own back story
can be read as the preface
to the two of us

Seasons

and as May dies, with it in kind
so turn my springtime states of mind
to summer’s birth and shining youth
that gold sojourn ’til autumn’s truth
when once more each thought must face
the inevitable winter’s chase
that bitter cold reality
December waits for you and me.

Weather Report

There’s hailstones dancing in the yard
large and round and very hard
a storm which shed from nowhere fast
and hopefully would soon be passed
away as quickly as it came
and leave my garden just the same
as it found it just before
the lightning flashed and thunder roared.

Turtle nonsense (a rhyme I thought was going somewhere but wasn’t…yet)

the turtle tumbled down the stair
tangled in his underwear
despite the fall he’s doing well
it really brought him out his shell

reflecting in a bathroom mirror

The hair inside my ears
has increased over the years
it’s like having little forests on my face
but what I’ve always feared
is they’d resemble little beards
as hispster ears would look so out of place.

5-7-5 (take three-hundred-and-six : predreaming)

I draw the shutters
and drown in the warm darkness
you wash over me

Another Nonsense Rhyme About A Squirrel

I saw a squirrel up a tree
but can’t be sure if he saw me
and I looked on I realised
a sense of joy seen in his eyes
of course there’s doubt and ifs and buts
as he kept playing with his nuts.

Red Sails

I set my red sails ‘fore no wind
in waters black with oil and calm
to a sea of silent monsters, blind
I was to the depths of harm
that dwelt below the mirror’s face
primeval nightmares, eons old
which slither silver from a place
of bloody ends, infernal cold.
Crimson masted tattered ghosts
drifted ‘ward me doldrum slow
and empty faces formed the host
leading me where, I do not know
then suddenly the water’s turned
the surface world around my keel
salt and pitch my life’s breath burned
and in that wave, death’s face…
…revealed

A thought at five a.m.

I kissed your neck as you were sleeping
and in your pulse
the beating of a thousand butterfly wings
met my lips
and in them I could sense your dreams.

I Wish I Lived In Mike Love’s Beard

I wish I lived in Mike Love’s beard
in nineteen sixty nine
it looks so lush and warm in there
I think I’d be just fine
he’d show me all his dance moves
right there under his chin
with room for a little Honda
if I fancied taking a spin