Her newly shorn
platinum tresses
revealing a neck forlorn
of kisses un-broached
funny how exposed
and virginal
it suddenly appears
to her beloved

The sweet nectar
beading like
latent weepings
on meringue
in contrast
remind him of Southern Belles
frosted from demure talcum
dustings

Half-formed dredged memory
fires his tongue
onto his dessert...

dell chorus
the silent boiler
and the blind mirror
sipping echos with the faulted tap

dark circe night
I smash the stars out one
by one
beneath the moth dancer light

A freight howls
rattling the bridge domain
the dark coffee waters

beneath the space
we buried
the river runs

wide and staring
voracious with power
like buttons torn
ventured to the seam

couplets and meaning

Just returned

It was real fun being on the road
viewing the valleys and hills glide by
we all were so happy
all galls and guys
all were really gay,
no, not the way you all are today
there were friends from all walks of life
gals and guys
some could have been bi’s
one can’t about anyone say today
we had a lovely holiday

went hand in hand
on a ferry
it was like there were
many Toms and Jerry

all were in smiles on top of the world
we had coffee at Tim Horton’s

Days like windows, look out on the self same scene,
the tree still stands it's ground, the robin visits his bush;
the sky, though ever changing, stays above.

We live, we love, a pattern like a dial,
the petals of a flower, rhythmical and constant,
stamped out with measured step
that takes us to other places, ending up in the same.

Each day a moment caught in dream,
another in a duty, others go unseen.
If we can see the beauty in each simple moment,
now, life is so rich, we happiness endow.

Sinuous as any snake
the tendrils of temptation
Sweet frosting on the cake

Having more than you can eat
and saving some for later
Something you can't beat

Fermentation of dreams come true
Wishes almost fulfilled
but not for every man's view

Oh, what wonders I can dream
here in my solitude... my space
The milk above the cream

Safe in the mind, no one can hear
the screams of suffocation
No sound will reach your ear

Late at night with burning eyes
trying to write some poetry
which I can read and not despise.
Nothing good will come to me.
Imagery swirls in my tired mind.

In my recliner, pad in lap,
pen is poised for words to come.
Moths attack the window tap, tap, tap.
I yawn as head and arms turn numb.
The waking world is left behind.

The segue into dream is smooth,
It seems my walk has tired me out.
So since I have nothing to prove
pace slows to match the woods about.
To its quiet beauty I'd been blind.

Death of a Poet Laurette

''In the hearts of men
there is compassion
poets are a living example
so was
Seamus Heaney''

Disperse the prism of reflection
Colours Crystallized refractions
wane
Warping the silken pad

Pupa dreams
Only a delirium of fruition

Moth to flame

Left to languor
Upon the befogged

Wishes now musty
Mutations insoluble

Wings of shattered want
Flutter not
Nor float upon the breeze

Extinct heart
Dawns its reality
Eyes wide now unshut
No cocoon exists

Confined to heartbreak
And its dissipation

Flying high disrobed
Mating now forsaken

fragrant drench
coiled sleeping
the dampness
leads

drop by rolling drop

the concourse rivers
full of detrius droll
evolving slowly
a bright and tinted flow

If I knew
the pressed
and ready
buried depths
between margins

how we lived
against our
contexts
and breathed
the spacial sighs
while snow
walked against
a mirror world

night waited
and wolves walked

snow globe parcels
of niche crept minutes
television
cholic

Gluttonous loneliness chews and grinds
upon the lifeline of borrowed time
sumptuously feeding all day and night
beyond drawn curtains of human sight.

Remorseless persistent depression
invades
accompanied by pantomimed dark
charades
silent suffering voices fear to
speak
from rusted armored shells so paper
weak.

Dying shadows of displaced memories fall
across haunted eyes reddened and dull
Reason is imprisoned behind bars of pain
as the death masked warden executes your name.