This is one of my all time favourite poems. It stands the test of time despite references to events from the '70s and specifically Australian place names. It is very, very long, uses a lot of repetition and yet reads compulsively.

my friends.

The door to December
She hastens her breath

bringing popsicle cobwebs
that remind me of death;

and the fiddler, he plays by the tree,
Her breath an iced cold legacy.

This door to December
whistles a crepe hanging breeze

Her breath quickly killing
the branches off trees;

the fiddler sought street lamps to see,
perchancing a crowd's company.

That door to December
Solstice shuts in the end

She quickbolts both locks
locking out Her last friend;

suspension eve
the slow crawl of stars
like a sunset of flame

rising like ashes glowing

funeral lanterns
at midnight
shinning like brilliant
cascades turning

How we landed in our
simple craft
from the great cradle ship
rocked in slings
and sung to sleep
by the sighs of the canvas

the maiden winds
in the lines

At the frosted crossroads of my forest garden
I knelt in darkness after work
And thanked Her for my journey home,
Looking up into Her smiling face
Through the sleeping branches of the trees,

And as I gave my final thanks
With arms outstretched
I heard Her footsteps on the path,
Felt them in my grateful heart,

The “Gift”

I look to the quiet of a dream
or the peace and tranquility
that faith can bring.
I agonize from the knowing
of a sudden epiphany
and my thoughts carry me away
like violent waves crashing
on a virgin shore.

Shine on your moonlight matrix maze
The mist of morning-- sought then raised
Your cloak of twilight
Its hem has frayed
As sunset sings beneath
The waves

I like the slow quiet of a foggy night
and the wailing of a distant train
or the putt-a-putt of a single engine plane
loping across the sky

sounds that propel me into a fantaisie noir
not unlike an hypnotic chicken clucker at a cheap carny show

a gritty, tough, iron jawed
double-breasted shoulder holstered
man on the run

"you'll never take me alive" I snarl

the sound of my voice
snaps me back to my ordinary messes
...but, at least I'm still breathing

and wondering

I read it in a newspaper
Many years ago
A marriage ceremony with a massive oak

The girl looked happy as can be
She wasn't simple folk
But yet she did request
A marriage with a tree
Wanted to spend her life in simple harmony

With a leafy green oak because she loved it so
Strange I thought
But she had sought
and with it she did go

galls all over -----angst....

in the world of transformation girl,
you dwell
this kind of story many do tell...

when moms and pops are at tangents drawn

kids do more than often feel forlorn ….

love them,
for even though growing up,
they don't at times act like grown up

so you are the thread
to bind them together

and

with your unfathomable love
they will live forever together,

this I can only hope to say,
because teenagers many,
have lead the life ,
you lead today

enrich gain suffer
the hot chill buffer
running down the steam bed
feilds
like gutter rain
rivers

taming hearts run wild
spent broken free
and running

your press on hearts
slipping free like the
heels of your shoes
fleeting past
the ochre ache
in the sigh past midnight

Press a palm against the
grainy smudged need
like a needles sting
gripped in your clean
smile

this still life
pocket compact
realm