As we pull back
(Retreat from bustle)

Patterns emerge

The human aim
to flatten with gravity
the sprite spirit
that would soar.

Every bodhi falls apart

I bring you death
solace and love

In equal overdoses.

And then we go on

Eve wrapping adam
skeletal frame
overgrown and fleshed

Tantric topiary
intertwined

And the one great thing-
no need to hurry

The day maple
leaf forgot
sunlight

He turned yellow
with fear-

Then red-
embarrassed to
be seen to fail

Tried to spiral
to grass and hide
his shame

But wise tree
held on
smiling

And covered
her nakedness
with glory

Stood on a pole
forty years

Up down all directions
and no idea which
way is home

At irregular intervals
I take a long pole
and turn the
sightless eyes
to sun

Unplug nerveless nostril
to unwitness fresh
pine

Bare gummy mouth
to taste the
crystal stream.

Those boon companions
bear no fault that
they died to the world

And have no clue
why the mountain grew
the star fell

(though to us she burns
bright in her long
extinguished firmament)

They never felt
vulcanised veins nor
systematic surges of love.

Flotsam, jetsam,
washed up on the tide

May I burrow
your subconscious?

Not as worm
but wormhole

Through dark
dense space

To ethereal worlds

And all the while
unseen energies
were unpicking
and stitching as
the fabric of
existence fell in
strands upon the street
or
simultaneously
pulled silken threads
together-

My rags are beautiful

Possessions smell

Confused as ever
welcoming life
just as it comes

Sitting on
leaf litter
at the river bank

Spirits of those
once known
half forgotten

Drift by.

People stones animals
plants and objects
drifting by

Whisper hallo
wave goodbye

Breath of leaf

Still wind

Along the river bank
something stirs.

Tree spirits wisp
and sway,

Transparent in ghostly garb

Strong men
broken backed
driven mad.

Innocent of crime
sent to carnage.

War war and
more war.

Nothing more attractive
than madness war and
destruction.

And all they wanted
was a kiss

Big tree
got logged

Slicing the rings

Memories of
lifetimes

Now on ocean floor
We garden with
Complete freedom.

Fantastic vines produce
Polyps, jellyfish and
Squashy pumpkins.

The old ways are forgotten

Speciation, classification,
Removal of forms from
This or that all undone.

Dragons laugh
Spitting fireballs
Which sizzle and lard
The sandy land.

Fantastic vines
Cling to surface
Tense and *******
Sun

Peach halves reunite
And passion fission
Fruits new flesh

And riding dolphin
Is the only bus

Now on sea bed
We reform our lives,
Give endless seed
Back to sky

Twin turtles
propelling gently
through warm oceans

Flipping belly to belly
no need of oxygen

Growing plump and huge
tomatoes on sea beds

Some days
anything is possible

Batcherlered
yes I miss you

But it goes to the brain

And here it goes

Breathing sgain

Flower explosion

What can we do

When it goes into
the dark?

And all I wanted was a kiss
Vast emptiness
nothing

Empty empty space
and all I wanted

Was you here

In security
and comfort

Full flowing

All growing

Flower of compassion.

Those struggling,
cut their bonds,
for you have power,

Cut their ties

Set them free

All I wanted was a kiss

GRAVITY

VAST SPACE

SPACE

Needle a *****
in atmosphere and
allow spirit escape.

Flood shared space
with something like love.

Burst the bubble and
go, earthlings,
dandelion seed on
cosmic winds,
go fertilize the planets.

This the freedom of generation

Mud skipping fish
blowing lung

Tentative reach beyond
self and the
oceanic goodness
of being

Walking,
talking words into being

Never noticed the stone
up ahead.

Stubby toes, let
rock remind,

Look around, watch
where you go.

Stood on one leg
clutching clubbed foot.

Old stone on the road,
thank you.

In dank imprisoned mind,
cellared,
thrown against a wall
by guttering candle,
huge monstrous thing
clawing at the stone.

On palmy beach, timorous,
hiding in sand, stored
Under feet in noonday heat.

Drinking wine with
the moon,
the three of us
flaggoned,
aliened underneath arches,
faintly there, drinking
out time away,
girding our *****.

Merged with She,
sheet crumpled, replete
with lust.

In every space, nook, cranny,
in qiuet contemplation,
thought myself alone,

But you have never left me,
capricious, morphing,
paranoic delightful
shadow of mine.

Yes you
you know who you are

Would you kindly return
the bleeding heart
(is it bleeding yet?)
you ripped so tenderly
from the gaping
chasm between
protuberant man-*******.

And perhaps
(should you be so kind)
under another cover
also post
the rib you broke
removing it.

Send it express,
the weight of life
support expels all
the air from my
spirit.

Should you throw
yourself upon

The mercy of the world

Beware the hoof
that tramples.

If your heart be pure
compassion perhaps

Some angel will
flap flap

Lift you above the
onrushing herd

Mystically shelled
snails in slime
embrace

And in vast space
galaxies spin
and dance the
fractal same

(On flat dead
man stone
lovers tongue
entwined play
the same nocturnal game)

Drink deep of lethe

And try to forget
that day

When the flower
bit the bee

Crawling across the earth
one of many creatures
crawling through the garden

Where is your dominion
termite mounds built high

Too many bonfires!
Too many bonfires!

finding a voice
canary singing
in the mine

finding a voice
prophet crying
on the mountain

finding a voice
sighing
lovers arms

and I am deaf too,
and too dumb to speak
kind, loud and slow
to your yearning ear.

and also too blind,
with distance unsighted,
this burgeoning love
too readily blighted

no language too pure for
your precious flower
no sentence to capture
our rapturous hour

dissonant rhyming
and unstructured versing
metaphoric tussle
empathetic cursing

who is it that dances through
the dawn?

that plays the tambourine
that drinks and loves
and lies abandoned?

it is this I that has no truth
no sense of self, this role
play in a suit, a tie,
hard hat or shorts.

who is it that lives in
sunny clime or winter chill?

it is I, not I
no self there nor there
ever was

not I, the I that rarely
is, a diamond rough,
cut of stuff ineffable.

who is it that sees me now?
why you, mirror of my sigh
and you are you, who you?

the void
is not void

every direction

spun

hang out the washing!

this springing day

Sat on grass
beneath canopy
leaf

under body
seedling grows

fifty year
immobile
tree grows high

wide

sitting seeing far
with tree high eye

It is a long hard road
my ancient brother

I see you packing your back
with what you may need

Or not.

The long hard journey lies before you

It is a long hard hard road
my ancient brother
would that I could
walk it with you

Wheelbarrow heaped
with drywood
chopped for grate

Pyramidial tripod
iron ***
hanging

Boiled water rolling
steam and
soggy entrails
of some unlucky animal

Roots shoots and flowers
arrive in woven basket
from long grazed field

Dogs circle
wary, hungry
sniffing at scraps

In a cave
Madmen spit ochre
on hands glued to walls

Cavebound
mad mike scribbles
his civilized mind

Was your baby
an arm here
torso
head over there
some other limbs or
organs tomorrow

To be stitched together
in a week or year
or two?

And was that baby
(perhaps ugly as sin)
beautiful to you?

Pah!

You come out whole
my little wordlings

I kiss you on your
knotty spine and
leave

Bon chance
bon voyage

Have a good life
hope some reader
loves you

Unique tribal and
undulating forms

Even reverie has limit

Better yet a borrowed phrase

Force flows within
purple wilting flower

Torrential abuse
Fish battered overfried

Such power obliterates
the past

Explosive reaction
chemicalised

Dawn prevaricates-
reluctant to break

But mynah beaks open
their cacophany amongst
rustling bamboos

Dogs stretch and yawn
nuzzling to run in the
relative cool

I wait

Let light encourage
Snake to slither home
to burrows, fat from
night feed
in they squeeze

Full moon round as cheese
sinks stately behind
the promontory

On turning
sun drips honey
over greened mountains

Five islands sit-
their time will come

As mine, alas
has gone

In the world cannot erase
the tedium of an english
seaside suburb where
old colonials retire

Cricket and warm beer
the elongated death of
the english gentleman

John Arlott describes
scattring pigeons as the
ball rolls idly by

A gentle ****** of teacups
(bone china) and
Betjeman on the wireless
1,000 years of Malmesbury town

Of elegant languor
with a tint of sepia
melancholy

The romance of
vague longing
and nostalgic bloom
a fading chrysanthemum
perhaps

Taking the promenade
panama hat and shades
suit sewn by hand and
long corporate umbrella

Macintosh and overcoat
by turns repel the
damp and cold

Cognac by the fire
and wistful glances with
widows in the hotel bar

Strolling on with
meaningless purpose
toward Edwardian
disaster

Sleeping little girl
face of never been kissed

Waking sleepy eyes cloudy
with dew lips stretching
to smile

Rutting face flushed
contorted pleasure
good big bad girl

Morning face open as sun

Working face furrowed
in concentration

Evening face made to
melt in painted splendour

Myriad facets of one
beloved face haloed
by tumbling hair
and massing gravitational
pull on one helpless man

Lincoln green robin
hoodwinking the
greedy rich

Feeding the poor
robin red breast
flaunting credentials
robbing the lady
marion
the little birds of their
flimsy
filmy honor

Little boy little
man-child john
little mowgli
conquering the jungle
conquering the tiger
riding imperious
the stark grey brown elephant

And backscratching bear
sleeping in the greensward
dancing with milady
tucking into supper of
fast arrowed stag

Hung out and dried
between devil trees
and huts afire

Across the brittle
yellow beach into
the deep blue sea

Speared by humiliation

Burst bubble
ego de-ballooned

From desolation row
give out the
phoenix call and fly

Flapping through the flames

Office girls hitch their skirts
craving lunchtime sun

Rabbitting salad
admiring slender thigh

Prince charming rides by
his charger rearing

This evening the ball
is all in cinders

Dawn sweepers out
clearing the
detritus of darkness

Chaos and disorder of
night giving way, reluctant,
to pretence at industry

Wantonness abandoned
until the black silk sheet
renders revellers invisible.

O passions
you are
what you are

Logos and light
you may merge

And crave the gloaming

"Be in the present
in the here and now"

In arrogant black still
sure
very still

Equanimity, equilibrium
yes

But Godwin please your
be here now
ruinous to stillness
to meditation
rupturing the pre-dawn silence and
self-reflected perfection

What it is like
now you are dead

To realise-
pupil sometimes equals
fool

Candelabra of chestnut

Aroma catches back
the throat

Conker on a string

Battles and innocence

If you have
contemplated
suicide

You are a good person.

If not
a fool.

The world is mad
not you.

Stick around

This too will pass

The deeper you feel
the higher you fly.

Meet me here
in the muddled middle

It is only natural
to use your narrow logic
tick box
and categorise

To hold this freedom
in your mind

Resist resist
this logical temptation

You are not
a number

You are free

Found the land
map peters out

No hole
no treasure
cigar burn on casket.

Hand Robert Graves
fondling
jar full of marbles

Hand writing

House making
never mind.

Trench breaking

Old Homer loves you

Truth teller

Blind and sunned

You knew
you knew

Marble margle
pirate treasure
small boy treasure
skull and crossbones

Mappa mundi
treasure treasure
take me captain
morgan
take me home