Lala was the female front for twiggy belly buddy
Twiggy married lala to pretend normality

So no one knew that twiggy had nefarious activities
For twiggy was a gay bod but he didn’t want to be

Viewed like all the other men who were belly buddies
Ostracised and criticised for their sexuality

Poor lala traipsed with twig for all the world to see
While dips and po hide in the background happy as can be

For lala does not know that she is just a pseudo front
A pretend wife whose only use is just to bear the brunt

Frozen

in shock

Why didn’t I knock?

You could have locked the door
or was that part of the thrill
knowing you’d be caught for sure
If looks could kill
She’d be underground
I’m trying to keep my temper bound
I thought both of you were my best friend
now of course that has to end

Frozen

in shock

Why didn’t I knock?

those precious moments we search for
in the far recesses of our warped minds
we keep searching for solace,
as we leave time behind

and

march towards a stage
where rage

is the order of the day

and
page by page
we recall those very moments tall
we wish to time and again recall
but moments of momentum
are all so very few
we all love memories
how so ever old or new

I am dark and fierce, full of shadow
bolt and lock the inner door
pebble water river poem
heart ease pale distraction
placed in haste totally at random
verbal stepping stones
but where-
to place my feet

my battered thesis curls with dust
academic failure cackles on the floor -
I thought I would be famous

Unscathed by decisions made
Knowing no one will relate
How I behave is the effect
Subliminal silence
Tattoos. Artistic dialect
Chemical vibrance
As I place pieces of my soul
Into poems untold
Hidden behind what I reap
I've sown an impression of deep
Darkness

I see you sitting over there
holding grandson in your arms
in your old Boston rocking chair
captured by an infant's charms

And I've seen that look before
years and decades in the past
contentment, love and so much more
a look I thought whose time had passed

So grandmadonna rock that child
the tiny son of second son
sing to him with pure voice, mild
another journey has begun

cascade this blade of light
sharpening the eyes
your stare finds me
through the thicket
and dream wicket

How you lead me
transfixed through resolutions
of moods and emotions

how far i travel
shadowlands
you find me with
a look a call

the delicate footfalls
behind me in my
labyrinth halls

to lean against
an arm
and feel this
soft length hair

alive like the worlds
winter wonder
in the morning
arctic air

.

The key of currency
is the changing of hands,
a baton passed on
in constant motion
that binds together
all its participants.

A fresh, crisp bill
is a virgin still,
between your fingers
whose anticipation
and epic journey
are yet to unfold.

.

By Robert Frost

Whose woods these are I think I know
His house is in the village though
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow

My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year

He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake
The only other sound's the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake

Here the walker suddenly meets the giant
oak tree, like a petrified elk whose crown is
furlongs wide before the September ocean's
murky green fortress.

Northern storm. The season when rowanberry
clusters swell. Awake in the darkness, listen:
constellations stamping in their stalls, high
over tree tops