'

*Data storage now keeps forgotten memories; 
images and words from jubilant revelries. 

The clock is a blur of digits these days 
and nothing is clear but tomorrow's maze. 

So off we go to bury unwitnessed sunsets; 
replacing our garden beds with plastic regrets. *




____✒
○●
°

dare we click that
marketplace button
unleash excitement
of various polarities
live and breathe all of
changeabilities now
tomorrow has its
newness lined up

' 

shadowed 
in early evening's 
darkened corner 

his smile 
responds to your 
gruff remark 

and you 
do not see 
the tear 

rolling 
from his cheek 
he turns 

the faintest hint 
of sadness 
cloaks his eye






____✒
○●
°

Cheshire cat lazily frowns,
smile turned upside down
while all the way to town
a lady from Down Under
hobbles along, in a freshly
frayed, browned-gown*




●○
•

580 may be a random number
meaning less to you than
to the keeper of our data
yet to one who easily bruises
beneath its title every line
reveals secrets of a greater plan

first light filters
parts curtains
of night's slumber
vision caresses
flight seduces
somewhere
up there, free
fleet of wing
soaring reward
fruit of doting
in spite of peril
flavoured feast

•○●° hence my heart ever welcomes
daedalean destructive doting.






_____✒□

There she flits, this butterfly
Flutters by, alights on blooms
With certain grace and eloquence.
But no more to a petal of mine.
Once, she did, many moons ago
Favour flowed upon my seasonal rose;
She'd tarry awhile, row upon row.
These days her wings soar gaily
On other climes, in other garden beds,
With the distinct exception of mine.
Perhaps this rose by any other name
Has lost its nectar, has lost its rhyme:
This garden unattractive and dry.
Farewell, fair butterfly, farewell.
Without fanfare this scorned rose
Shall shrivel away and surely die.

A weary social consciousness arose,
whilst public adulation reveals
a personification of hope;
what of our communal yesterday?

We, the refugees of our past mistakes,
embodies a bush that no longer burns,
consumed in fervent disappointment and disgust.

Our faith is now justly rewarded -
an olive branch has been offered;
and on one shoulder lay what we only

dare to hope, 'Perhaps, perhaps...'
the journey to that time and day
begins today, sworn in resolutely.

The weary arise to lift their chins.
The din roars above the pros and cons.
No person can lead a nation and a globe;
what of our communal tomorrow...?*




_ _ __ ✒
○●
°

We are one,
We are different
But we are one.
In deference, we
Respect individual
Variants of the same soul;
Though our chariots differ,
Draw arrows from selfsame quiver.
Though unique in flavour,
Draw at wells from Muse's core.

Which one am I? ...are you?
In essence should it really matter!?

There is maybe 
in each burst of 
energy, a product 
of fanaticism filling 

the air or the cities 
when the limbs 
of trees hail the 
soldiers to the war. 

Perhaps in each 
bellow, the burst 
of energy produces 
fanatic followers. 

Perhaps in each 
gust, the rush of 
wind uproots all 
modicum of calm. 

Perhaps in each 
caterwaul, the limbs 
of protest raises 
interjective receipt. 

Each is a product 
maybe, without 
hope of reprieve: 
alone in time; Perhaps. 





____✒
•

warmth envelops
dissolving the
bustle and noise
liquid stillness
offers but a momentary
tranquil once upon a time
it is so easy to
drift off and forget

here the watery balm
soothes celiac rashes
a moment's reprieve
that shuts out reality
provides sombre retreat
cares float away
until unwanted thoughts
stray with blistered report

it is quite possible
through bolted locks
to lay hapless victim
to home invasion
for someone to play
Corday to one's Marat
unwitting and stabbed
at home in one's bath

'

Who can tell the difference 
between gallantry and deceit; 
that is clear only to 
the querying breeze? 

Who could not smell 
the pungent heavy cloud 
before the pulling of 
the petulant wind? 

Further, afar off, no one inquires 
about foreseen mornings unseen 
dreams once winged zephyrs 
echo in forgotten hallways. 

Perched high on rock faces grim 
beneath the humming of the bird, 
awash on porous promontories - 
failure now permeates the abject soul.




_  _  __  ✒
○●
°

Much like Icarus, off they go;
until condensation metes them
reality's condescension.

red letter month
written on the cloud
an end to an end
now our sorrow send
death be not proud
red littered month

game over; roll over
turn your heads around
smell the 4-leaf clover
1 day truth shall abound
with angel trumpet sound
an infant's primal cry
and all tears wiped dry

Where did you get that hat!?
Folks grind on  me each day.
"Keep it off, tis not funny!"
Sorry, but it's staying on this way!

Tis the hat my father never wore
on St. Paddy's day, you'd swore
Tis but me spiked up hair, y'seen
Doused with a lot o'spray on green!

I haven't me a hat, let alone respect;
So I'll bug off with me head *****.
And just as well, I'm on me way
I haven't a shamrock on me today.

painting the net
with effrontery
crude, insolent
•••brazenness•••
and to what effect?

marionette making
puppets on a string
unshelled hermits
***** all riled up
quite entertaining--

so's the jerking knee
set your reflex free;
someone's therapy
should never, ever be
your online misery*




●○
°

'


Let a song rise through your tears,
Let a smile crease your wet cheeks.
Invoke kindness even when pain follows;
Let the bright of morning kiss your lips.


Let this song, its sounds caress
They wipe away languid raindrops and
make echoes flee in the dark of night;
A long day floats away in its melody.


Let sleep, quietly soft, lift you upwards
into the crook of its gentle arms tonight.
Let twinkling stars line your misty dreams.
Set sail on a shimmering crystal sea.




____✒
○●
°
'

from the ground
the ceiling looks so much wider
from the ground
its cracks seem much finer

the paint peels -
minute flags, off-white surrender;
the paint peals -
egg shells of heavy footed plunder...

revelation fall free
on this soul that has been bound
revelation fall free,
release this pretender from the ground

Who can tell the difference 
between gallantry and deceit; 
that is clear only to 
the querying breeze? 

Who could not smell 
the pungent heavy cloud 
before the pulling of 
the petulant wind? 

Further, afar off, no one inquires 
about foreseen mornings unseen 
dreams once winged zephyrs 
echo in forgotten hallways. 

Perched high on rock faces grim 
beneath the humming of the bird, 
awash on porous promontories - 
failure now permeates the abject soul.

Time arrives at the station
and hops off that train;
through clearing misty tendrils
one can but notice
its bright travelling cape.
( Who wears these anymore? )

Those caught in Time's gaze
are wrapped in a moment supreme,
where eternal lapses into present,
brilliantly, ever out of sequence; 
whose master conjures curiosities,
making this drudgery worthwhile.*





●○
°

forget forever,
eternity is so much grander;
what's overrated is too easy,
a lazy choice

so, what's your plan-B?*



●○
°

'silver tongue,' you say
frightful compliment which
births performance anxiety
rather than a mere swelling
of a bloated head

today though; this very moment

this tongue's gut-stung
by a full vial of anaesthetic;
come back tomorrow,
perhaps then, we shall
see a much better show*



●○
°

Expatriated.... silence swallows whole,
enunciated expression:
Fists pummel at an empty sky.
A voiceless scream tears anaesthetised night.

Who needs gravitas,
what piety awards accolades;
why strike a solemn clarion
where dignity and virtue fail to roam,
when last breathe approaches?
How can we repatriate orphan, edulcerate elocution?

'

if there be but two 

on this twilight moon's 

landscape, there might be 

in a galaxy of its own 

a hidden treasure trove 

of good and loved things 

that can be opened up 

and relished each day!




____✒
○●
°

paisley print
sunflower smile
sat alongside
a leopard that ate parsley
paw in hand
waiting on the sand
for flying fish
to skip upon
cobalt banners
as lazy breezes
pan flute recollections
of this Iberian summer

time is a vagabond
travels along byways
across life's big pond

its ticker's a bicker--
a nagging that's thicker
than freckles on a face

its tocking reminds you
of armless, moustached pirates
that haven't got a clue



●○
°

blood skies, day or night
heavens speaking
loud and bright
rainbows chasing
dreams take flight
yesterday's flailings
now out of sight*




●○
°