dumb deaf and blind
They say I am blind
I don’t mind

They insist I’m deaf too
How can I deny the truth

Then they say I am dumb
Now that’s being numb

If I were so
how could you know
what I say
but alas it’s the laptop
by the researcher’s way
they can guess I am so

and
so I now confess
dumb I’m, but no woe

But so was Helen Keller
she did not consider these as handicaps
nor Mahatma Gandhi of India

he had three kind mice

It all started one lovely May.
The sun there wove a golden way,
the stars, the moon in no delay
begged us a hey, begged us a hey.

We thought we'd have our life-for long
to play tunes that never go wrong.
A stream of passion keeps along
with every song, with every song.

We were words, those printed to hold
a story written deep in gold.
Yet misty shadows blew to fold
a tale been told, a tale been told

Single breath poetry

I do recall
your name after all
you were on call ,
but then your poetry was,
not, that isn't now,
as invaluable as this ...

I read your self eulogy too
and
share with you
that I too have had four fatal falls
but as there was no place in heaven
God kicked me once for all
and said
stay there till I call

Sex is my weakness
as you say too,
you have a prescription
my spouse says no, to,

A stormy whirlpool spins.
Words chomp and churn, in capital bold type!
The swirling library of jagged edges
is swallowed whole.

The words disjoin and fall apart,
crumbling into oblivion.
Only to be regurgitated then re-chewed,
into black ink bile,

The ruinous fluid is gulped down.
Its constituent parts mix in the gut.
The bitter wormwood slowly evaporates
into the time shift of love.

shine light
the thin reasoned crawl
crept in a sweep
the minute hand

shudder wind
leans a shoulder
and a thousand
beads of rain
shivers

radiolight glows
and an ashtray is
lonely with the
carapace
of thoughts
drawn in

thunder of buses
and a red eye
turbine stitchs
a beating pulse
red in the mists

approach

tentative the touch
pulse
the shoulder of
a turned aside
memory

THE SWING

On wings of wind I flew
feet high into the sky
ecstatic vertigo
seeing the world swirling
below
free as a soul
in flight
leaving it all behind
closing my eyes
to see...

Drops trickle down my second skin.
It has been a life time encased in the ice,
my Armour.
The wondrous cold dew seeps the gauntlet’s new pores
Cracking, brittle. Dying

The Sun kisses my finger tips.
A strange, yet familiar sensations creeps up,
radiant Warmth.
My fist clenches, senses bombard the mind
Pain, joy. Life

The armour aches and cracks with each breath,
it splits. Shatters under strain.
Light.
Joy in the pain of life restored

Uncertainty and Man…

What soothes the man who kisses cloth,
not looking back on friendships past.
To dive for glory like light or Moth,
travesty that of man not ever to last.

Can’t be brethren to one who’s highborn,
spoons of different metals does feed.
Uncertain are men who live off scorn,
always to be attentive to such a need.

They’ll scatter mere baubles at their feet,
allowing certain types to take their fill.
When such a service or times complete,
they’ll wipe their bloody blade with skill.

I've come to see an old, old friend
who hasn't much time left
he should be gone by summer's end
when he shall leave us all bereft

You see this friend is a small dam
fit on a mid sized stream
so now I stand right where I am
to recall, perhaps to dream

My father's father was a lad
when first this stream was tamed
outcome of a vision someone had
what, I wonder, was he named?

how then can I ever forget thee
my friendly one
and
you are the only one
who likens me to a bard
here none have done

Stan and Ian
are two solid pillars
of Neopoet …
without both the table may fall

then only Loved will be on call
but
Ian you read so much
you are not jobless as I
but that you devote so much time
makes me question
as to why…..

PERHAPS YOU WANT TO KEEP
NEOPOETS ALIVE