Madness

the poet went mad
as the words eluded him
and the muses laughed

Course

should a thousand miles
seperate us from a kiss
I would chart a course

Ce qu’on entend sur la montagne

azure and gentle rises
belie the truth
this is no painted landscape
no memory in pastel blues,
for beyond the forest
under the screaming skies,
that all such quests
accompany,
reality tears
clawing silica beasts
carved from nature’s flesh
to be forged as glass,
silent snarling jaws
to consume the poet’s soul
and leave him
but breathless, empty clay.

Lake

upon the surface
there may be tranquility
yet this lake is deep

Blessing

hallow me with the commonplace
the everyday we wander through
the setting sun upon my face
in quiet moments dreamt of you
a touch of delicate caprice
upon your hand held in mine own
puts my heart at more of ease
than any praise of great renown
should you whisper of my name
when you’re abed clothed just in sleep
in joy, in peace would I remain
and pray this blessing I would keep.

Roads (possible coda to a future poem)

I thought upon the thousand roads
that I have walked across the years
thankful for the twists and turns
which led my travels here.

Executive Disorders

are you not entertained?
this stale bread,
and these circuses of vanity,
they will be the end of us
as our souls are sold
not for the sword
or by the piercing lance
but with the swipe of a crayon
and a shit-eating grin.

Untitled

there are church bells
and I read about a boat full of people
drowned in the sea
in plain sight of freedom
I watch the faithful pray
and hear the screams of children
without a mother’s embrace
or comfort
starving tonight
they sing Abide With Me
and I hear a man gasping for breath
with a boot on his neck
for the shade of his skin
and I look to the skies
begging for an epiphany
a purpose to this incongruous state
but see just clouds
passing by oblivious.

Wolves

the wolves are sleeping
but one day their time will come
the forest fears not.

SHAME ALL OF THE POETS

shame all of the poets
for their art dares condemn
that which we are sold as truth
by more moral men
imprison verse contentious
that move against the creed
deny their revolution
and the questions that they breed
censor and damn the artists
who strive to realise
the beauty that is hidden
from more blinded eyes
sacrifice the poets
on the altars of your lies
but beware, in doing so
their words you’ll sanctify.