cycles of remembrance
do hang on me for a long time now.
I think remembrance creates trust
and trust makes wholes emerge
and perpetuate.

Do you think about trust?


These are the words she wrote me;
a story-girl making paper-planes
of words to fly like storylines.

These are the words she wrote me
to respond to the words I once wrote.
She flies back at me like a full-page mirror
that I read as my reflection.

Little to compensate except for
those storylines that lie as labyrinths
of our lives: stories within stories

where we each learn what is trust.


17.21
9/03/10

I do not breathe;

breath runs through
me as I be a witness
to its path:

I do not act
although my belief
tells me that I do.

So I think that I act
as forces beyond
compel my movements.

In each thing
we participate
yet in ways

foreign to how
we have been
trained to know.

Eyes open blindly
we choke on air
as we sink to swim.

There is grace
under each stone –
in every breath.


17.00
27/03/09

Arms holding
in the madness
tight

as wind blows
howls

wraps around
strangles slightly.

I can sleep
although
her body too warm

and sweat sticks
for no reason
against my slumber.

Why she cannot
shed her insistence
for these coverings?

Madness
in the night’s
hot embrace

holding tight
as wind curls

and chimes ring
hung outside
like silver bells.


22.22
23/03/09

Change comes to the one who bends:

like raindrops that fall upon a leaf,
that trickle from its wet green spout;

I sway and droop with the needy,
with the new – if change is what

is required to be near to you.


14.04
20/03/09

Here stands a man who cares:
who is open to being used.

Who is ready to receive your blows
when you need to release your scream.

When your anger bursts out against
the unknown and feeds your fears:

let it all burn against the skin of the man
who stands here patiently waiting…

he knows that he must absorb the punches
from the one who cries inside like a child

to understand what it is to be loved yet
too afraid to dance out of the darkness.


20.55
16/03/09

From where does the change come
if not within yourself?

From the spheres that hang like
baubles in the evening crested sky?

From the sliver of silver fish that
leap from the river to waters high?

From the speckle of worn grass which
tries to show the traveller’s path?

From where and to where, I’d like to know…
Tis perhaps from thy heart

that mysteries murmur
and call as siren song?


22.39
11/03/09

Your power is as subtle as your
Subtlety is powerful.
Like the unknown alongside of you.

Subtle as it streams along your veins
carrying the carrion call. Subtle as
the Icarus fall which none did witness.

More subtle than the faintest wink,
the driest tear, the slightest pangs
of longing.

Subtle it is, subtle it be. Closer to you
than craven desires or deepest fears.
More subtle, more closer, more within you

than you would ever care to imagine.
This is your power. This is the love
that makes you.


23.41
7/03/09

man of truth

carries on
carries weight

on through the wars

quietly, little noticed
little said, knows the dead

no contradiction

in opposites
lies the way ahead

looking through glass darkly

same as seeing in crystal glass
when all is clear inside.



10.51
13/02/09

It’s the thin strip I love:

between horizon and ground
where eyes light upon and linger.

There is a magical shiver that
travels the spine and tingles.

Being human is being capable
of that gaze, of that view.

There is no room that can give
this silent sight and enthrone it

like it really meant something.
Yes it did – yes it will.

Waves pull and sea-folk sing.


20.17
06/02/09

The continuous search for truth
rips, slits, and soothes…

like a journey on ice it slides
towards the horizon far.

We each a turgid ragamuffin
who dare to bend; stretch

the cartilage or pull a muscle.
Rigor mortis coming in

to teach us a tale or two.
Sun spreads her fiery arms

to embrace, to burn, to bone
each shy squalid heart-excuse.

The rest of us cough like pilgrims
and decant our tales like sherry.



19.57
06/02/09

You buy into it, you lie into it.
You are the bed you weave.

If it could be different
you would make it different:
don’t cry over what you make real.

We are the beginning, we live our
middle ground, we grow the gold elixir.

Somewhere in the struggle I wonder,
yet I never forgive the plunder

of the self.




22.58
31/01/09

Body by cool water linger longer by the minute.

It was dreamtime and I was in your space; brown
lashes slapping tanned features furrowed, coyly.
You were seeking something through the meeting
as I passed the moment to assist.

I knew you were looking through for spirit song
in the books lying still, spine name revealed to me;
yes, I could assist.

I will pass you on your way to where you wish to go
if you do indicate, I did say, and I did make my move.

Somewhere in the shadow ether you will have moved on
towards your target immersed in sea shanty song, salt
dried upon your skin to mark the waves you passed.

I would be long gone.



14.42
31/01/09

Hombre

The traveling man
moves about
because he can.

He's the hombre
of falling leaves;

of time left lying
in shallow pools
bottom of the glass.


17.00
12/11/08
(Madrid)

Fool Defeated

When there is nothing but silence
coming through the space between
your lips like mysteries,

I know I have been defeated
by the subtlety of language.

When I hear in the still air
what neither of us
has dared to reveal,

I know I have been out-done
by the energy of the heart.

And when I announce my victory
to the stormy winds outside,
to declare myself the victor:

I know I have been the fool
who will laugh til ever more.

22.05
09/03/09

-

Very much alive

I’m not dead but very much alive.
I have my alibi. I have my beating heart.

I have no diversion or excuses.
I am strong – and I’m coming on.

Yes – I’m coming on.
And the song is getting louder.

It will be sung all over soon.
I am not the only one.

I am not the lone singer.
Soon there will be many.

Then the song will be a great one.
Our future too – bring it on…


00.08
27/09/08