Amorousness runs

dry and all your happiness --


slips through your fingers.

Pride designed a precious bower
Granting each discarded scrap
The illusion of creative power

Whatever’s found he will devour
And shape to his mind’s map
Pride designed a precious bower

Now his lover he will shower
With refuse in a shiny wrap:
The illusion of creative power

Is she wooed by his false flower?
Will glamour be her trap?
Pride designed a precious bower

Or will her feelings remain dour?
Knowing he can only tap
The illusion of creative power

Leaving him to hunt and scour
The world for his stopgap
Pride designed a precious bower
The illusion of creative power

A sorcerer doesn't

need a wand or other stuff --


Words are sufficient.

The Golden House, all

golden houses are beliefs --


in an illusion.

when did a camp fire
become a wild fire
raging through
two hapless
souls blinded

in love with love--

how did it all grow
to a spreading inferno
with bait that satiated
opportunities denied
threatening what is

to be lost forever--

carefully built
solidity over years
of hard work and much
sacrifice, seeing the long-term
goals, knowing that a flash in the pan

often ends in a bitter rainstorm--

when did a camp fire
become a wild fire
raging through
two hapless
souls wounded

so stop now--

This world is moving fast.
One thousand miles per hour.
Quicker around the sun.
Faster around the galaxy,
And fastest into the universe.
No contraction. Just expansion.
We agree, it's infinite in time and space.
Is there a nucleus for BOOM?
Does time go in only one lateral direction?
Was there more than one BANG for the buck?
More than one universe?
Creation isn't an asterick,
Exploding in all directions,
Like the rays of a sun.
Time may have no beginning, no end.
But stories need a beginning, middle and end.
My story does.
The universe doesn't. No story.
Not without a start and an end.
Just a middle, with crises, conflicts and looming decisions.
This is the illusion.

“It’s a dandy of a day”
I heard her say
as I hooked my charm
into her arm
She sighed,
with eyes half closed
a ’Gone With The Wind’ pose
and ‘mmm’ for a hum
we locked our kiss
and kissed like this
till our mouths were blistering numb
we made kissing an art
till ’pop’ went my heart
for the day had only begun
******* on a pillow
and fibres to swallow
when I awoke with the alarm