First in honour, now in memory,
behind a wall and down a hill.
His secret garden grows.
Calm harbour, amidst bracken leaves,
kind to all and patient still.
A sacred place that knows.
Verdant wise and endless houred,
of life forestalled but yet, fulfilled.
Nature’s joy bestowed.
Oh distant soul.
Let us venture friendship.
Without negotiation,
or word association.
Let us be as sorted corn,
side by side, not mixed up fire thorns.
You may not know me now,
but I know who you want to know,
for I am one of those.
So, friend in wait,
let us think of kinship,
without reproach or fear.
For we have hope and wonder,
to last us through this year.
Ladies and Gentlemen!
Don’t be earthbound,
as a shadow,
clinging to the floor.
Rise above the ground,
leave this dustball below stars,
and lose your earthly anchor.
Friends and Strangers!
The sky abounds,
for you today,
to love and to adore.
Galaxies surround,
your avatar,
a playground to explore
Why do we toil,
twixt the furrow and brow,
working human soil,
with a broken plough.
Why do we graft,
life and employ,
such guileless craft,
with little to enjoy.
Should not we fashion,
our own self worth,
based on passion,
rather than convenient berth?
Should not we strive,
for new ways and free,
thoughts to a life,
not travailing debris?
Yet still we build,
these needful foundations,
just adequately skilled,
and a numb generation.
If I go blind, see for me.
Lead me through a darkened life,
as I shuffle towards a change of light.
If our eyes no longer intersect,
tell me the way onward.
Still without words.
When the hood of these eyes,
is forever noosed and tightened,
will you be my guide?
Here I go again,
turning word tricks,
for the poem pimp.
Lying on my back.
feeding the habit,
of an addict soul.
Every word you read,
is my release.
Purge this emptiness,
let me satisfy you.
Want me.
Of all the blooms,
you last the longest.
For all the night,
you shine.
Clear voiced,
against the white noise.
You resonate.
Defined.
You grow,
where others wain.
The strongest,
of the vine.
A secret scent,
beguiling.
… never mine.
Hands of leather, iron strong,
white wire haired and always tall.
Map-faced wise and joyous in the new,
wind spirited, yet quiet,
of the old.
Oh knowing gardener of souls,
patient of storms distilled.
You are deep blooded,
noble eyed,
all seeing all.
No more.
We are all,
but grains of sand falling,
through a child’s hand.
Draining through,
a sieve of fingers,
hauled by forces,
not within us.
Humbled,
at our hurtle down,
and trembling,
as we strike the ground.
We are reclaimed,
as land for sea,
and tide to take,
our destiny.
We share an electron charge, you and I.
Word and thought polarity,
crystalline tuned.
Pulsed from a lost lighthouse,
out there, in here and everywhere.
Circling transmissions, found.
Hey you.
I give good word.
Be my laptop dancer -
make me tilt.
I’m intermittently indeterminate,
anonymously public.
I touch -
type.
What are you wearing?
I’m wearing thin.
This is a door that you are passing through,
every word you read is a degree of openess,
textured and ancient veined,
close it when you leave.
I swim in your eyes,
towards magnetic north,
but still I am lost.
Time stretched like kitestring,
clock not wise,
pulling me downward.
We are one,
but one is two,
and two means more than one.
Caressed by saline blue,
I travel without myself,
seeking ripples within.