among all the fears there sleeps a bear
who’s paws are soft and hair is fair
afraid to wake and arouse a tear
there sleeps a mouse by claws so near
between the two there’s an open space
where chivalry and strength find a place
among hope and a dream it will lay
till mice find courage and get away

“I’ve just had enough!”

“Enough of what?” I asked

“How can you not see it?” she cried

“See what?”, I said

”Simply, how I’ve just had enough”

“Oh…no, I see”, I confessed.

“Indeed, you’ve taken more than your share”.

I am so alone
can you hear me?

Hello…

Hello?

Why is it every time
I want to write a poem

that is real
that is raw

I start every line with
“I am alone”

Hello??

Can you hear me?






Is anyone there?

Every great poem begins with a great line
but not this poem, this poem of mine
it has its flaws and it ends with rhyme
like every poem I write, every time
But every poet can be great, I heard it said
if you write a poem, not to be scared
to be judged, or write to be read
keep it real, raw and great in your head

“I don’t think I can take it anymore”,
she cried.

“Where would you take it anyway, if you still could”, I asked

“What do you mean…I don’t get it?”she said

“Never mind”, I replied

“You cant take anything anywhere if at first you didn’t get it”.

I have a monkey
for my thoughts
hanging around
dangling down
by the tail
till it’s caught

often chasing
swing to swing
a string of a thing
I cling
carrying the thought

people say
no monkeying around
stop the thinking
the red wine
your drinking
and cage your mind

but with a jacket
and matching
white pyjamas
Tonight, dinner’s at the circus
and I’m going nuts
and bananas

I need
the right
timing
to post
more
of my
poetry
faster
and after
Suzanna
Berlinsky

One day she just stopped talking,
so I stopped too
I don't know if that's what she wanted,
It’s just her words became few
I thought I’d give her some flowers
Maybe somehow I’d get through
The flowers weren’t as pretty as her
But she stopped seeing too
Now I just visit and I hold her
At least she still feels the same
She’s still as beautiful as she always been
Though she barely knows my name

Here’s a poem
to all the girls
I’ve loved and hated
to the ones I did
and ones, I wish I dated
To the ones I’ve kissed
and the ones I’ve missed
yes, to all the little Misses
And it goes like this...

To little Miss Chievous
so young and free
But I got out quickly
before one could ask
“Wow! who’s she?”

To little Miss Stake
Yes, to the ones we make
the apologies and sorrys
and the patience it takes

To little Miss Understood
I never did and never could
So I decided I never would
even try

To little Miss Fit
Not the health kick kind
But the one who’s wit
I couldn’t match nor find

To the one Miss
I miss the most
though I love them all
It’s to her I toast
To my little Miss Guided
by whom I was love struck
and still remain
to this day
blinded and
stuck

my old shoe carries me
through walks of life
the dirt, dust and poo
through to the end
and if my shoe can do
then how much the more
you too, can too
my friend

You can do this
not because, you are able
nor because you are strong
because without this
you remain the same
and this,
gives you permission
for change
to become the new you
everyday

Heaven has a street called ‘Hope’
It leads from earth and is thin like rope
It’s a tight walk across earth to sky
Those who walk may fall but learn to fly

Heaven has a street called ‘Love’
It starts from here through to clouds above
It’s thinner than Hope but is stronger still
Those who walk may lose their way but not the will

Heaven has a street called ‘Faith’
This path is unknown but one can trace
both Hope and Love and where they intersect
They that walk may lose their life but not the respect

I’m not one
to speak for death
for death
could speak for itself
I speak only for life
for life and wealth
is the breadth of breath
and the well
of heart and health

A poem is not a place
to belong
It’s hard and rough
treacherous and long
words are wounded
bled and blended
the rhymes are lies
stiff short and ended
lines are cut
and dissected
meanings fray
if not mended
a poem is no place
too small
to find your space
without a wall
or ground to pace
no not at all
no support or hold
for a poor poet
not to fall

“What’s your
favourite colour?”,
she asked,
I replied, “black”.

“Black, like the night?”
she questioned
And went on
to question,
“Black’s not a colour”,
and she was right

But, I’d choose black
for anything
black car
black jeans
black beans
All my favourite things.

We paused

“What’s your favourite colour?”,
I asked
She smiled
touched my lips
and said,
“red”

But she wore pink
with green jeans
and a purple bow
on her head

I stopped and stared
wondering at that
How beautiful
she would make
the colour red

i will try to write a poem without using the moon
ignoring the language of angels and gods
of heavenly hosts and celestial beings
they seem to always take the place of the way I am really feeling
i will try to write with words you have always wanted me to use
but this time I will choose
between the white tunes and hues
and maybe you will understand me
maybe you will see
when I pull back the drapes from the poetry
with out all the shy stars and bashful butterflies
you will see,
Me.

I don’t know where it’s been
I just know where it got

I don’t know where it is
I just know where it’s not

I don’t know how or why
I just know where is what

I decided a long time ago
as long as a piece of string
I would be the one to cut it short
if you were to cut it thin
yes, It was a long time ago
along a long and lonely path
I longed to stretch it out
what you would cut in half
I decided a long time ago
as long as you were here
long is such a long ago
I, short of memory,
long to remember

This heart makes room
for those without place
find a chair
a bed
some peace
some space
my heart’s your home
make it sweet
inside my heart
not at my feet

This heart makes room
come and hide
at the heart of my soul
not by my side
my heart is warm
a fireplace
come abide in me
beneath my gaze
it’s quiet here
within my chest
come now
come sleep
find your rest

You tell me how much you love me
with the softest of subtle eyes
your words can convince my soul of anything
I’d believe even your sweetest lies
you’re fair and your face so beautiful
so sweetly your smile grows
still, I could fall so madly in love with you
even with something dangling down your nose

softly speaking words you  ‘woo’ me
satisfying the secrets  in my soul
you drown and delight my deepest parts
so deep you’d leave a hole
amazingly, you amaze me
a gift without ribbons or bows
you’d unwrap me with the slightest wink
even with something dangling down your nose

All you need to do, is touch me
my heart hides up in my throat
I’m so ‘lovesick’ it feels like seasick
you know how to rock my boat
blow my mind and wipe my memory
I offer you a beautiful soft rose
hold it close, to sniff and smell
and leave the thing dangling down your nose

A poet has but a few
favourite things
they are much too busy
writing
dreaming
the day away
not wasting
a thought caught
on a day of play

A poet has a few favourite books
yet their imagination
is as good as any
read in their head
are heroes, hurts and hopes
flipping pages in their mind
a librium of poetry and notes

If asked, about their favourite hue
they have no colour but words
squeezing line
mixing rhyme
with feelings
close enough
paintings plainly heard
through strokes
spoken
without brush

A poets favourite things
are made up of life
and what life sings
pain, suffering, simple joys
a poets favourite toys
are madness
and the many things
they employ,
that brings birth
breath and wings
into the poetry we all enjoy

while you’re away
and forever
be never further
than closer than ever
to me

may you always stay
and never
leave here
for here is nearer
than you’ll ever be

There is an oasis in the middle of my dream
I spend a nights rest at the edge of its stream
Beneath palm trees and cool of shade
I close my eyes where my body is laid

Silhouettes of chain linked camels at sunrise
I squint and peer out through half lit eyes
A band of gypsies, sing, dance and play
The music is faint but it wakes me today

In bed between concrete and cement
Staring at a ceiling I wish to forget
A cold city of asphalt and bitumen grey
I’ll wait yet again, tonight, to be on my way

Maybe we can try again
Take the storm away from rain
hide the hurt from the pain
Maybe we can just try again

Maybe we could begin right now
not ask why, just know how
Place the promise back in the vow
Maybe we can start right now

Let’s start now before it’s late
Hold love so tight , we squeeze the hate
Push back time away from fate
Maybe even now, before it’s too late

This one thing I know for sure
Let’s both take less, ask nothing more
Don’t question when or what for?
Maybe then, where we’ll know for sure.

give or get

Round like a circle in a spiral, like a wheel within a wheel
Never ending or beginning on an ever spinning reel
Like a snowball down a mountain, or a carnival balloon
Like a carousel that's turning running rings around the moon
Like a clock whose hands are sweeping past the minutes of its face
And the world is like an apple whirling silently in space
Like the circles that you find in the windmills of your mind!
Like a tunnel that you follow to a tunnel of its own
Down a hollow to a cavern where the sun has never shone
Like a door that keeps revolving in a half forgotten dream
Or the ripples from a pebble someone tosses in a stream
Like a clock whose hands are sweeping past the minutes of its face
And the world is like an apple whirling silently in space
Like the circles that you find in the windmills of your mind!
Keys that jingle in your pocket, words that jangle in your head
Why did summer go so quickly, was it something that you said?
Lovers walking along a shore and leave their footprints in the sand
Is the sound of distant drumming just the fingers of your hand?
Pictures hanging in a hallway and the fragment of a song
Half remembered names and faces, but to whom do they belong?
When you knew that it was over you were suddenly aware
That the autumn leaves were turning to the color of her hair!
Like a circle in a spiral, like a wheel within a wheel
Never ending or beginning on an ever spinning reel
As the images unwind, like the circles that you find
In the windmills of your mind!

I’m on a road trip
It’s a while since I’ve written
Still there’s nothing like writing poetry
It’s my best any trip
Long roads are better enjoyed
With words floating
In and out my head
Even the most beautiful of sunsets
can be ignored
when that perfect word
sits right next to me in the passenger seat
talking with me till I stop driving
to pick up a paper and pen