On a wisp of wattle
that cradled in the fig,
a dreaming began,
as sleep draped veils
to nurture a gleam into
dazed eyes,
as mantles of moonbeam
wreath temples
I fell to,

A gathering cluster
that saturated all reality,

a sculptor with tool
set about carving
a bird of paradise
as form finished
it flew away

A dove birthed
from a painters brush
and wiggled free to
splash the canvas of black
staining its feathers
in obsidian

NO VACANCY

blurry satellite idle
hot dry air on your naked legs
in the shadows your eyes
drift hot and tender
your anger sharp as a shiv

beneath our atrocity fields
flutter memories
like fresh crystalline snowfall
pure and cut right

boxes of black and whites
sepia in the drawn open
hideaway lights

toes on the radio knob
and a cigarette from
cinnamon lips

shift the crooked hip
never healing from the crash
the metal plates
and skin graphs

Were l able to truly play guitar
like the masters of the art,
I'd play for you the sweetest melodies;

then afterwards, within your eyes
I'd be inspired then to write,
with that feeling flowing through me like a breeze.

I wish l better understood
the meaning of my life,
or better yet the meaning that is yours;

then afterwards, within your heart
my vision would then clear,
and l'd comfort you whilste opening your doors.

I can't remember
the shape of your eyes
but the glance I still do
as beautiful as invisible
as calm as afraid

Because here
in the mountain
darkness is draping me with fear

And I feel that someone is walking behind me

If I turn back
I extinguish myself
I cease

I watched as you sleep
on the old bed,
seeing your skin bears
the lines of age...

Your love have lit my life,
guiding me to be
the man I am
meant to be

Each time I fall
you were there.
You lift me up
because you care

When I was unwell,
you used to cradle me.
In your strong arms,
I could hear,
you pray for me

Now you are old and feeble,
unable to move freely.
Your bones always ache
when the weather gets ugly

Sundays too my father got up at dawn
and put on his clothes in the dim lit barn.
Then with oaken hands that ached
from labor of lumbering
he banked fires .No one thanked him.

I'd wake and hear the cold raspy roar.
When the rooms were warm, he'd call
and bellow. I would rise and dress
fearing the rousing angers of that house,

shivers chill ivres
serene surreal lyres
she fast sea vast
pours foam quivers
where aspens willow
divers circum
Siddur Senghor
troubadour Negress
buttress lioness
torah baroness barren nest
ween win wist wrist
for the Cyrus cylinder
projectile conductile
lintel linger Intel
Yeshivas intellectual

A LATE WALK by Robert Frost

When I go up through the fallow field
the bewildering aftermath
stricken like the thatch with the heaviness of dew
nearly closes the well worn path

Ans when I traverse to the higher ground
the whir of disturbed birds
emerges from the tangle of overbearing weeds
is more than unspoken words

A tree over by the wall stands mighty
but a leaf that has turned to brown
Disturbed, I doubt not, by my thought
comes tumbling down

drawn
ribbon
silk and such
drawled with cinnamon red four
dabbled drowsing
dowsing

fingers light
the little pulse
like wavelets minnow nibble
this brilliant shoal

wrecks the ruin
carnage and cream
the splendid scars
the ached scream

steady aim
like tremulous
glee
pupil alleys
while the streaming
sunlight
burns effortless effigies
in that dark
narrow
comforting
trap
where happiness
crashes
like
rains

So here I am,
a pallbearer
choked with emotions
as I accompany you,
my friend
one last time ,
on the final journey

Reminiscing the past
you and I,
so close together
sharing tears and laughter,
fighting with bullies
becoming heroes
for the girls

The rest of the gang
are also here,
offering their last
respects to you,
honouring
the friendship
that has withstood
the test of time...