When I dream of two cocks fighting,
I seem to imagine two poets
dribbling with a voluminous load of words,
trying to sort out
who amongst them will come first ….
I dream of a day when they all queue up
for a Nobel
but somehow I am ushered in... My best critiques yell.... hold it, tis unfair
he doesn’t know a dime of poetry
we dive into deep seas
in search of oysters with diamonds,
not pearls,
metaphor is all the more
the sign of a poet
a simile for a smile, maybe

erotixa

slips in between the sterile beauty
the beast machine
nudges my chest
nipples still chilled
from the bold cold
that crept up inside
the last warmth

the light shines on fragments
of my shoulder
held together
by bad dreams
and lurid words

doll head dreams
on faded screens
"lipstick and tweezers"
she says sitting
straight up
eyes open
parted mouth

As the fire burns down
the old man feeds it a log
then sits back and dreams

Long past days of youth
bring a quiet smile to his face
memories of her

He then remembers
and the smile melts like spring snow
loneliness takes hold

I've been lost in the eyes of the precious
and breathed gasps of air in so full,
payed no attention to the view from the crowsnest
putting too much faith on the hull.

I've found solace when sad sorrow was boss,
lost perspective in a wee child's grin;
was coerced to feel the sadness of a loss
to truly feel how it was to win.

I understand things much more clearly
from outcomes of events so damn weird;
that sometimes, the folks I hold dearly
will hurt me much more than I've feared.

1.
We were long into the summer
with the grass sweet and
the crabapples grainy and sour
on our pre-pubescent tongues.

The sun shadowed a clock onto
the street and it was time for food
and families.
That night I lay in bed with the
radio courting my dreams
while you slid into my friend's room and
seduced him to join you
in a world of make-believe,
helping him to get dressed;
pull those pants up around his neck
and tighten the belt.

In the parks
and parties,
he charms hearts
with his tricks.

He chases away
other's sadness
to fill the day
full of laughter

His colourful silly attire
makes people smile,
forgetting their worries
even for awhile

But he is a human
like you and me
bound by emotions,
his wants and his needs

Beneath the painted face
he struggles to survive,
living life at his own pace
to keep his dreams alive.

a barrage of rain pours
melancholy onto rooftops,
filling my heart to capacity
with stagnant pools of alienation

I wish I had someone to hold me
in weather like this
as the trite emotion in my gut
reminds me that I am no different
than any other sentimental human being

but the loneliness at the brim of
my heart will never spill over
and the rain will stop pouring
but I will still be here
loveless

cellar door
slate roof
homemade bombs
and mythic truths

the shadow
of a mountian home
where roads snake
goat path swerve
and borne tunnels
tin funnels
torn shirts
and sheets
for flag flown
ideal sown

tractor petrol
four cyclinder logic
vodka tonic

and the cold twilight
supremacy
of a God
the ghosts lain
the years slain
rising like the springtime
meadowflowers

It's Saturday morning , I'm awake
from a strange and haunting dream
(And I hardly ever recall dreams)
they come and go like a wet weather stream.

I was floating up above the land,
(as, in dreams, folk so often do,)
surveying scrub land and red sand.
Over Australia I flew.

Somehow I knew this wasn't now.
I'd gone far both in miles and time
to a past decades ago
ere I had written my first rhyme.

TRANSITIONS

My soul clings
to me
like a child
to his mother
for fear of it's
immortality