the train came into the station a loud rush
people hurried again
getting off and on
luggage and people scurried
a roar

the bus rushed to the bus stop
air brakes hissing
one lady got on
two got off in a
rush to go where

seems travelling is our ambition
go from here to there
ethereal maybe
how I just sit and watch

no rush
I hate the pressure of air brakes and train
whistles
I like sitting and
watching it all

the lovebirds coo
on the wire overhead
the trees swish in the breeze
like a cymbal swooshing in
the greatest song ever

I get where I want to
eventually
and the train has a schedule
the bus too,
I am more like the
lovebirds

just on time forever

A man is but a petal,

    where a woman is the flower.

For without her he is nothing,

to be a man the flower must birth the *petal...

Sometimes at night

asleep by the firelight

I dream about them

how they died

some are singing

and others saying what

they no longer see

walking fencelines

limping as if in pain

some of them handsome

and some mysterious

silent but not

for long they tell you

men scarcely know

how beautiful fire is

and old stories

they can't remember

unless you can

still look them in the eye.

i.

roses in the dust,
winter-love greys, shadows
of a lost world.

ii.

i was much smaller than i thought
and the sky
a rounded dome,

a cathedral of light
with stone arches

river-green pillars

and the blue-green
emotions
of dream....

iii.

imagination
waited, an
opal star
blown against
the tide.

iv.

all i could see was the
blues and greens
paper blushed,

clouds and watermarks,

watery daylight
like a glistening pool

as if the sky
was a stained window
and there was
no fire,
only a scattering
of light

only softness
of the heart,
only the magics

of its mirror mists.

v.

like maple leaves
fallen in a
stream filled
with moonlight
in the rivery
nets of the soul.

Think not about
the gossamer windings
of feeble minds
for our souls' inner
structure
is by sacred design
and as we roam
and spin and
consume in flame
we do our best
to soothe our
own inner pain
and when the seedlings
burst forth
their silken fire
and the dam breaks loose
with longing desire
    we strive to remain
on top of the tide
in undertow rush
and unravelling pride
It is these moments
that we snap into shards
in a  mosaic of selves
veins mapping
                heart
and our arteries  burst
into rhythms that slide
as shifting polar sparks
           ignite waves of time
tectonic plates quake
as we are torn apart
        from inside
our cells reconstructing
our fibers re-defined
This is spirit recreation -
a tiny flare in the dark
for we are dying to survive
our own inner hell
we are ******* the breath
of that life-giving spell
we do all of this and more
                    as we crumble
                               and spew
on our knees at rock-bottom
searching for new
So fear not
those depths
of the unlit abyss
for it's our own
shining eyes
that stir
light's
fervent
              kiss