Your tender words of love
have lost their lustre now;
There’s a patina on your poetry,
A corrosion in our chemistry and
all those brilliant ballads you wrote for me
are slowly turning to rust…

Now I see those little motes of misery –
your thoughtless touch disturbed in me –
All fall away quite peacefully
into a sea of fool’s gold dust.

Every day can be
like a tsunami of troubles
we struggle
to overcome;
So let’s be brave
and ride the wave
’til the day
and our troubles
are done.

A collection of curves…
An assortment of angles…
An alliteration of lines…

How do we each perceive
the universe?

How do our minds define
what we believe we see?

Do our conflicting views
intolerably entangle themselves?

Or could it be
our conceptions converge
more harmoniously?

Let’s lick the light from the sky,
Taste time together
You and I;
Gargle on green rolling free-flowing fields,
Then lap up a leaf left by Yggdrasil.

Let’s milk midnight from our eyes,
Weave the world a red
lullaby;
Turn somersaults in Summer’s vault of sunburnt malt
and mumbled salt that tumbled through
thunder’s thoughts of ***, raw whiskey and rye.

Let’s make the moon craters cry,
Give up our graces
You and I;
Sweep the stars into bell-bottom jars
as we tweak the meek **** of Mars and creep
through the spaces of cotton lace bars
faster than a racing eight-faced die.

Let’s lick the light from the sky,
Taste time together
You and I;
Share our souls with this suspicious old world
So it knows the reason why
we are
You and I.

Are we all just broken mirrors?
Merely a collection of reflections,
A thousand shards like shields
under which we hide, and therefore deny,
These scars we cannot heal?

What do these surfaces show us?
A covering of caricatures as
a substitute for skin?
A means to deflect, so none may detect
The person lost within?

How do we perceive each other;
As people? Or as purely pixels now –
A series of small screens,
An infinity of identities
in which our souls cannot be seen?

Are we all just broken mirrors?
Too distorted to support the burden
of the shared shame we feel?
What if we take the time to realign
Our falsified ideals?

I am an island.
I am a little spit of land,
Swept away by unsettled waters
and shifting sands;
Forced alone to
make my home
In an insubstantial sea.

Yet on my island
I am free; free to preserve
my eccentricities
in a nature reserve
made from nurturing love of
what I choose to be.

I am an island.
Borne away on wistful waves, I
travel onward,
Seeking a place where
there are others who are free;
And when I find them,
There I’ll stay, and
thereafter spend my days
Not as an island…
But as me.

**** happens; it’s true.
And no matter what you do,
****’ll happen to you.

It’s nothing personal; it’s just life.
And life don’t differentiate
between wrong and right.

So the best thing to do is have fun,
And laugh as **** happens,
‘Cause when all’s said and done –

This **** that happens ain’t a curse,
So when it sees you feeling good,
Then perhaps what’ll happen,
Is this **** that’s happening
will feel worse.