to my way of thinking,
we are all poets.
even, if it is...
just for the briefest
moments, of time,
when the words allign
perfectly..and then,

poetic nirvana,
               the release of ,
                   the mudane mind.

Captain's Log,
rough seas this morning
as we sailed into
Port Hangover
first mate Asprin taking double shift
as is galleymate Coffee. Unable to make headway against megrim winds.
Also having difficulty navigating nausea reef,
may need to run aground
on Throwasickie island
as vision is becoming blurred.
Put present difficulties
down to attack of tannins, whilst sailing
wide red wine sea,
last watch.

you were my yesteryear.
when you ruled,
as the pop-**** queen,
atheletic and cool.

me,i was one of the
weird, vibe tribe.
theatre mad, and
a library hound.
you barely knew,
i was around.

but we lived in,
a small, small town
and you,
dated my brother
so you only, iced me gently.

it was surreal,
truly dali-esque.
to see you today...
i would not,
have known
you....
so faded, grey..and overblown.

we have all got older,
but the years,
have...
mugged you
and left
you beaten, battered
and low...

you tell me
you were done,
with living,
about two husbands ago.


and now just plod
through, each day,
willing the dark grey
to swallow you whole.
staying, living only for
your son Tim.
you say all this,
while ,
heavily, perspiring,
pure gin.

you cry and the tears,
run down the cracks
in your leathered,
over-sunned skin
and down to pool,
on your blowsy breast,
clad in ***** pink polar fleece.

my heart, curls in pity,
for you have fallen far.
as you sit and drink,
gifted coffee, talk about
when you were the star,
the brightest, prettiest,
flame by far.

and as i leave you,
sitting, dejected and depressed.
there is a little, heartfelt shame, in the fact,
that throughout
our untimely meeting,
i could not recall your name.

writing life on the upbeat
no mean feat
when riding pell mell
down to bowels of hell
on a harley fatboy
bought as look at me ploy
with a kooky sidecar
of sarcastic sidebar
talking of friends
my god  are
we are all just lemmings
to mediocracy in the end

My heart I give to the cloud
my eyes where the grasses quiver
my time is come to leave the high ground
be lost in the mist of the river!

From so far I have wandered
to be lost in you o river
my tears mourn the times squandered
to find you where you meander!

Now is come the time this August noon
to pierce your mystery's veil
to kiss your ripples and die in your moon
go down deep you to feel!

I give my heart to where winds the river
as I stand on your green bank's mound
where the clouds hug you grasses quiver
and soul end of journey is home bound!

i was overtaken,
by a hearse,
this morning,
on my way to work.

two things, came to mind.
first,
where does a hearse go
in such a hurry....
and second,
it is always hard,
to get back in to
the workaday rhythm.
...rip... holiday mind ...rip...