writing

The Elm in The West Wind

The tall elm writhes
and sighs
at your touch
a gasp
from spreading boughs
as your unseen fingers
find places never known
by the lesser elements
she scatters her leaves
which turn and trip
a terpsichorean flight
of wayward grace
upon your breath.


Naked, she shivers,
though not with fears,
save the fear
you will not grace her
with another kiss.

Determinist Verse

I write
in voices other
than my own
this cadence comes
from ghosts within
whose turn
of word and way
is other to me
no long, strong
hanging consonants
no slipped
or drooping syllables
I try so very hard
to hide
and yet …
… if they were
to inhabit my lines,
I would not sound
like me, the me
who writes
in voices other
than my own

End of the World

at the end of the world
a man paints
on grains of rice
as the endless ocean
gently falls beyond
the last horizon
waving farewell
in silver blue goodbyes
below the driftwood piers

at the end of the world
a saxophone plays
the saddest call
to a million seagulls
overhead
their refrains heard
not as melody
but an expectant call to arms
soon the night will drown the day

at the end of the world
a balloon shaped like a heart
in silvered blood
flies to the heavens
an epistle undesired
one of loss and sadness
now that joy is lost
from unsteady young fingers
the coloured lamps begin to fade.

at the end of the world, darkness comes
but I know not troubles
for this is not the end of the world
as tomorrow brings creation…..

…..and creation is peace.

The Woods (2019)

so spins my mind in darkened woods
damp in the rains of long ago
underfoot the undergrowth
allows no steady thoughts, nor should
as here is time still as it was
before we stood to contemplate
all that exists beyond our fates
and questioned the world and its cause
these trees grow wise without our mind
to be that which we are or not
they have remained as we’ve forgot
their silence pleads as bleak reminder
we were their sacred progeny
now grown and lost eternally

Tree

there grew a tree, inside a tree
what a sight it was to see
around new life the dead stood guard
protection from the untoward
vagaries of the years to be
where this tree inside a tree
would from calamity’s intent,
bent to befall his brethren,
could safely look to seasons long
as cathedral to the song
of birds and beasts among its boughs
purely as sometime, somehow
had a seed fortuitously
fell from a tree into a tree.