Feet throb through well worn shoes
after a brisk walk to central station.
We keep our ears plugged with our beats
to finally find seated, at furtherest point;

Backs of heads, napes, and collars
mushroom away, stare blankly ahead -
polarised sunnies paint them bright;
choked only by an assumption of gain.

And all we see is a tiny reflection of we.
Here in our world another day begins:
a mourning of suited, tired paramours;
in this cosmos of peopled isolation.

you can hear it, those claps of thunder
though you've chosen not to take cover
here we are and here you are, momentarily
tomorrow this sunburnt land whistles merrily
so stay awhile and take it all in;
appreciate our kookaburras grin

here in this venue, we bury each day,
a time capsule of words and thought
hoping to one day arrive at a Eureka
of sorts; there tying-up neatly, each
unfinished business that tomorrow
bought from yesterday's backroom*




●○
°

' 


*Provide us just scales 
with which to measure 
determine the truth 
provide no displeasure 

be objective and distant 
make sure you're blindfolded 
mete out the verdict 
swift and without fail. 

But for the value of life 
remember your own 
Each breath you take 
opportunities blown 

Justice is never served 
for the dead remain dead 
their chances forfeited 
memories defaulted 

punitive arrangements 
may placate the bereaved 
but the dead remain deceased. *





_ _ __ ✒
●○
°

when you read squiggled words
that bleed onto jaundiced pages
you'll hear a shadow and not see
the face and form of this poet
else, you would have yourself
come before an audience and
opened mouth and wagged tongue
within your sight and hearing;
but no, you can't even trace faint
restless lines traversing this face
nor animated inflection of tone
none to aid but yourself
as you pick feigned words
therein a vineyard to gather
your basket brimming over
later press, juice, or ferment.
So drink your fill of orphaned vine,
touch inebriated awareness; and
perhaps thereby our meanderings meet.

°

I have fallen madly 
irretrievably & unashamedly 
in love with you: 

Just as that swathe 
of hair that won't stay in place 
by gel or product or spit; 

You have fallen blandly, 
irrevocably & unscathedly 
out of love with me: 

Just as that scab
off, skin-on-the-mend that's pink 
by band aid & ointment fix'd.




_ __ ✒
○●
°

atypical,
in conclusive
      after conviction
once enough--
all-sufficiency
independent of
popular priorities

is to Be or Not
perhaps apart  
from partying
to debaucheries

atypical
               this love
begottenness from above
alights anew, like a dove
heaven-sourced repatriation
     vile, in estimation
clouded vision, rejected
by inutile estimation

until a singular day
glistens in the sky

put on your headphones and  listen

atypical,
in conclusive
      after conviction
once enough--
all-sufficiency
independent of
popular priorities

is to Be or Not
perhaps apart 
from partying
to debaucheries

atypical
               this love
begottenness from above
alights anew, like a dove
heaven-sourced repatriation
     vile, in estimation
clouded vision, rejected
by inutile estimation

until a singular day
glistens in the sky

put on your headphones and  listen*




●○
°

#life   #hope   #salvation   #relationship­  #thoughts   #thought   #redemption

There is a dull,
unidentifiable fondness
that sometimes surfaces
as a phantom itch
that when scratched
returns into the depths.

There is now a dull,
unidentifiable fondness
that sometimes surfaces --
a phantom itch
that when scratched
returns into the depths.

-not a prayer left
to utter and meet
dire needs make
us aware of power
that is not there;
a surprise in grace
that opens a face

perhaps there is
something in sun-
lit raindrops that
waken seeds in beds
of loam, maybe more
than gardeners' care
or fertiliser's flair

At the door, random severance:
Like a telemarketer on steroids,
This quasi-divine contrivance
Not any substance or fleeing could quell:
Here we dance, zomboid grievance,
Mere mortals could not work around.

What I love about Canada
is her bold statement of stark,
pure white, interlaced with
lush green foliage and dark rock!
It's truly an impressive sight to behold!
But her auburn hues of fall leaves one breathless whilst sending hearts soaring and yearning in the one extended beat!

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*




●○
°

when you read these words
that bleed onto my pages
you hear a shadow and not see
the face and form of this poet
else, I would have myself
come before you and opened
my mouth and wagged my tongue
within your sight and hearing;
but no, you can't even trace
restless lines traversing my face 
nor animated inflection of my tone
none to aid but yourself
as you pick my words
as in a vineyard to gather
them in your basket to
later press, juice, or ferment.
So drink your fill of my vine,
touch inebriated awareness;
maybe there our meanings meet.

Not many a man
consider themselves mysterious.
And the few that do
are quite deliriously deluded.
The real mysterious guy
doesn't mean to be so,
is often misunderstood;
and once you get to know them
isn't quite a mystery after all.
To that, the adept female has the key. 
All is quite simply as you plainly see.

severed horizon,
when will we see you again
there's much in the way*




●○
°

the plains of derision
ripping out my *****
tether recalcitrant claws
release nether the vagabond

tumbling venom drenched
quiver in the cold of night
ever awash on the shore

condemnation callously rife
excluded raucous realities
him accursed vindication

hope prospective prescribe
vision vigilant bright
delight, darkened demise 
smite the wanderlust of hope*




●○
°

how sad can we all be
we've killed off possibility
on the altar of selfish parody

"Echoes Between the Hours"

The day unwinds its tethered threads,
pulling time through quiet hands.
Each moment lingers just long enough
to whisper its name before fading.

Shadows stretch along the walls,
soft reminders of where light once stood,
and the air streams—low, expectant—
its breath heavy with something unsaid.

The soil stirs, not from footsteps,
but from the weight of pause.
Roots stretch deeper, seeking
waters below the earth's silence.

A single crow arcs across the sky,
its call dissolving into distance,
its flight a question unanswered—
a curve that never quite resolves.

And in this fleeting space,
where hours turn and fold like tides,
what remains are the hands reaching outward,
what lingers is the ache— waiting, still.



.

on a rock, reptilian sunbather
lays in wait,  sharpening claws

buried under volumes of texts,
a voice drowned in rising gale;

unless they come looking --
you are unlikely to be found*




_ _ __✒
●○
°

°

While I slumbered
in the night
and dreamt my Muse
had taken flight
an opalescent moon
had touched my brow

to kiss my cheeks
of fears, for now
above bold mountains
kind stars arrayed
your wonderful gift
of verse displayed



_ _ __ ✒
●○
°

years and seasons
both, people passing
moving on, outgrowing
all too-fleeting moments
of convergence, perfect
perhaps traversing, along
parallel paths, pilgrims
on a poetic journey, home*



●○
°

in irony, walk the earth
on chopped green impetus...

What have you done:
Given voice to silence,
Wings to unspoken thoughts,
Face to emotions deeply masked;
Solid darkness now made bright
When words unutterable take flight
Making them no longer alone.

high upon august rocky crags
parapets against blazing skies
resonate with sparkling ease
when these earthly travels cease
hear its revelation in the breeze
while in heaven, revelries
will garland eternal peace

lead me onward
allure of indoctrinated
heavy footed steps

traipse in white letters
inked on white pages
then ask me, why?

ribald footprints 
of a silent, broken guitar 
rendezvous with an ebbing tide:
recalcitrant thoughts wash away
along this sandy shore.

Consider the song of a chirpy creek
or a bubbling brook
and serenading stream
or a rushing river rapid;
tis but a prelude to the roaring
symphony of the mighty ocean.

watch and see
what happens
when we drink
waters of denial

Minuscule ants make a flightless
beeline along a sandbox perimeter. 
In their wake, a few grains of sand

Fall out of their confining place.  
One day, perhaps, they shall be free,
back to a convivial reunion by the sea.

One could traverse the length and depth and breadth of this and back and still have more to ponder on and discover!

But as the grains within that pit
outnumber the billions alive today;
only stars of night can reflect their gaze.*




●○
°

We pretend to apprehend
Appended prosthetic desire
When in truth we don't
Deign to even comprehend
What persuasion may conspire
Arrested reasonings contend
So whatever the difference may be
You are the subtrahend to my minuend

your formula worked
and people turned
their ears and listened

what if eternity valued
more that wasn't worth
much at all, here on earth

what if there in the after
life;  what's uncool rocked
and what's cool is blocked

then maybe we'd drop
the show and striving
just to be real, not conniving

what are the chances, now
what are thr possibilities
of unveiling life's intricacies?*




●○
°

Masks are real, masks are useful
But they aren't the issue
to be perfectly truthful.
It's more beneficial to pursue
The trajectory of a shoe;
And before we've lost our teeth;
What's truly important, you see,
Isn't what covers but what lies beneath!

it has been said that poetry 
is the straight and narrow road
to a girl's heart of hearts;
for me, alas, it has been an escape pod
from that girl that once 
but no longer has regard for me
so here, strewn among broken branches
severed petals and crushed buds
are what remains of love's labour lost
it has also been said that it's better
to love and lost than to have never
loved at all
perhaps they never felt the pain
or cried bitter tears that freely fall

Some things hold more weight than verse,
An infant's cry, a dog’s keen thirst;
The kettle’s boiling song,
Talk shows on elections burst,
And TikTok trends disperse,
Mundane life prolonged.

Our days filled with moments bright,
Meals that churn, and dawn's first light;
Promises we tend.
Viral clips that haunt the night,
Pathways tread, both wrong and right,
Fond repeats, they mend.

In trials faced, in highs and lows,
Daily life, in poetry shows;
Heartbeats, fears, and joys.
In simple acts, our story grows,
Each line our journey knows,
Love and life; our voice.

What's so black about Saturday?
our world was dark and sombre
a stone blocked the entrance
and all humanity went on
about its recalcitrant way.
Panic in the streets of
Birmingham,  NY & LA
Nietzsche most solemnly declares
God is dead, we're beyond repair!
Lost in the dark of sabbath
We fade in dimned* light
Pleading with this buried saviour
'Help us make it through the night.'
But the blood's bled dry
And so has the wine
All that's left is a sigh
And part of a loaf, crusted and dry.
If God's truly dead and buried
then why is it we're still alive?
What's so black about Saturday?
The continuance of inner fears
of hidden insecurities and
projected uncertainties.
What if that stone won't roll away?
What if a rotting corpse, its
inescapable stench meets our face?
rivers of evil running, through our veins
cruising the Styx with zombiec glee.
All hail, rejoice this dark melody
we're going to hell by self decree.
Join the punishment of the undead,
in a pit roast for all of eternity.
But then again all that's required
is the tiniest drop of faith to find
the blackness of Saturday darkness
bequeaths its grasp at break of day.
Even fairy tales provide an escape
and this inescapable reality has no hold
over faith and resurrection power.
For all the trouble we go through in life
I'd rather believe the good book's promise
than Satan's ruse to raise a zomboid army.
And these riddles circle in my head
of possibilities that God most
certainly is not dead!

What's so good about Friday?
He turned my world
right side up
when I found myself
displaced, continents away.
He's my Man, Friday--
He stirs the waters up
and changes them quick
to fruit of the vine
He spits on dirt
and they see, the blind
walks past them
and tormentors flee.
What's so good on Friday?
The end of yet another
back breaking week.
Yet He broke His back
and purchased Eternity.
By His stripes I'm healed
His blood has made me free
it's the day of liberty --
today is Freedom Friday!
Who cares about Taco Tuesday
or nostalgic Throwback Thursday
what's with Man Crush Monday!
But everyone yells TGIF!
Thank God, it's Friday!
still half of us disbelieves Him anyway.
We're marooned on an island
condemned and castaway;
but out of a tree and a rock
and a crowing denial three;
walks this man, Friday
and He's good enough for me.
Yes, there's still one set of
footprints on my stormy shores
And yes, He still carries me.
What's so good about Friday?
On Good Friday I took up my Cross
And He came and followed-rescued me.