Friday, August 28, 2015


Curious cup filled silently,
as if to find a way,
of understanding sorrow;
black cat of inner play.

Solace sipped so slowly,
drank the wine of grief,
stomach surely soured;
Love would find no peace.

Wednesday, August 26, 2015



Mortar made invisible,
truth which lay behind,
hid the dusty fretting;
camouflaged and lied.

Bricks of years beholden,
holding on as yet,
driven to impermanence;
damp and frayed regrets.

When the mask is broken,
so then is revealed,
damp and rotting structure;
now no longer sealed.

Broken paste of memory,
bares the soul at last,
structure now is breathing;
substance so long cast.

Tuesday, August 25, 2015



I chiselled at your image,
revealed the puzzle clear,
made luminous your heart,
left nothing else to fear.

Dumb were left the angels,
superior and wise,
lucid was my loving;
hollow were your smiles.

Foreign were the moments,
feckless were your aims;
drank the wine of sorrow,
saw the darkening stain.

There would be no winner,
once the die was cast,
drunk on sour misery;
mourn our time now past.

Sunday, August 16, 2015



Feast of life does generate,
the way to study time, and
then to laugh and find escape,
to sack the days not born.

The veins of soul lie empty,
the Self no more than ghost,
torn the days of memory;
heart's engine, broke and lost.

So do the years then gather,
rejoice in all that's been,
call upon fate's angels,
to close the gaps between.


Friday, August 14, 2015


What is this shadow of the mind?
Echo - Soul.
So there is form and substance?
Echo - No and Yes.
In dual form Soul does reside.
Echo - And more than that.
For Soul can be all things and none?
Echo - Yes.
As searching through to inner Self.
Echo - where all is one.
Shadow cast from reflected Sun.
Echo - where all is one.

Version Two.

What is this shadow of the mind?
Echo - Soul defined.

So there is form and substance?
Echo - No and Yes.

In dual form Soul does reside.
Echo - and more besides.

A searching through to inner Self.
Echo- with all revealed.

Shadow cast from reflected Sun.
Echo - where all is one.

Thursday, August 13, 2015


Thoughts were enigmatic,
gruesome to behold,
nothing to interpret;
so they did unfold.

Mind became impatient,
fears did irritate,
inflamed with expectation,
nothing then could sate.

Monday, August 10, 2015



Sin did settle soulfully,
plaster on my mind,
chill of truth so finally;
cry of life defined.

Thoughts did so recede,
no way to know again,
death's rattle as the sigh;
love could not defend.

Scry, the angels whisper,
beat the drum of truth,
stitch the thread of Self;
web of time is loose.

Creek of sorrow narrows,
winding through the years,
kissing banks of memory;
washing loose my tears.


It was the first and last holiday
of childhood, the only time we
ever went away, and precious
because of its exceptionality,

where the riveting glaring
gaze of the white-sand beach,
remained in memory always,
and the sky burst shocking

blue, as if it held Summer to
account, and dared the days to
languish in shadow, when they
could not, and would not be

released from the brilliant grip
of sunshine, day after day after
day, where the tease of hot sand
through drying toes and the salt

captured kiss of the sea refused
to leave clothes, or lips or skin,
not even when we ate the fresh
cooked fish, caught by rod at

the edge of the beach, each day
as if the King George Whiting
waited for the hook, knowing
this was the gift they offered

in a Summer that would never
be known again, at least for
some, and therefore, would
be held in perfect prism.