Dusking

the crickets raise their violins
as sunset calls the tune
soon come all the melodies
played to woo the moon.

Adieu

I can it seems with efforts small
forget how the world can be
yet as the dawning terrors fall
how the world remembers me
thus deeper should I dig my grave
and there spend all my days
in an attempt my mind to save
from this earth and its ways.
Away from daylight would I lie
ignorant bliss to spend
an Eden grown behind my eyes
until this hell is ended,
so seek me not, oh troubled lands
that have brought only pain
I can no more against you stand
and can no more remain.
So in my tomb of silent mind
I’ll build my world anew
and as my rest the world won’t find
I’ll bid this world adieu.

When As Clay

When as clay I do return
to the earth from where I hailed
by the years as soil turned
I hope sweet flowers I may yield
for nothing lives and nothing dies
infinity allows no ends
much of the essence then survives
and in eternal ages spends

Beneath The Silence [3 Haiku]

beneath the silence
there behind the deepest dream
sings the universe

between each synapse
fire tiny supernovas
songs of the first stars

celestial notes
waiting to be discovered
within each of us

Peace

let me die alone
without solace undeserved
I can rest in peace

Sketch for a later poem

how do the new sown poppies grow
white as February’s fallen snow
but in summer they glow fire red
when painted with the heart’s blood of the dead.

Monsters

the moonlight extends
no further than the forest
beyond the treeline
no man dare venture
for there the dark makes monsters
which night empowers.

Daisy Chain

when she wore daisies on her skin
chains that held desires within
I dared imagine in her eyes
petalled lace to guide my sighs?

The Solstice Comes

bleeds the holly scarlet red
inside the woodland’s verdant green
its lifeblood flows from ivy dead
the pulse beneath this winter dream

upon the naked frost kissed boughs
a silence roars beyond the night
and chilling air from jaws aroused
denies the solace of the light

and so the darkness holds its court
that seems eternal in its run
but even this black season’s course
is given promise of the sun.

Lascaux

these words are my caves
and on the dark half lit walls
I paint buffalo