I inhale a deep and cold dry breath
then breathe out a cloud of fog
in a forest near as still as death
as I walk beside a frozen bog
where shadows stretch from slanting sun.

This first month of the new year
when heavy frosts greet every day
and antlers desert tired buck deer,
brings memories from far away
like painted leaves now all turned dun.

Tired legs lead me to a stump
where I sit to rest a while
and listen to my old heart thump
after hiking a mere quarter mile.
Far off I hear a lone hound run.

like a brides hips
the solid draw rises
and the smooth seas
conscript their jaw mouth
rip
in frothing gunwhale dance
or the stolid placid hypnotic
chance

and the heel of tides
draw the folly of mans design
acoss her play
for keeps

she is beautiful and strong
at her thinnest the weakest
water like a mermaiden song
is more then a forge or iron strong

three pains
there are three pains i know of the first is labour and she yells till the one comes out and yells she stops weeping and tears flow of joy now we all know as the voice drowned by the miraculous one.. then she recalls the pain virginous at the hilt when the hymen was split and the joy of pain combined the third pain is when one takes leave and has no more contribution to make the distant horizon bugles a summon leave all behind now let them pain life has to end somehow so wait of what of pain remains..

...but, my love,
might our twilight years turn brittle and cold

shoulders slumped
the shape of question marks
posing
our fate

When the pace begins to get too fast
losing ground with each step taken,

the future is the perpetual past
another night I'll lie awakened.

The guilty will initialize
the innocent will pay the fees,

too late, we'll finally recognize
the bogus, random remedies.

Coerced by circumstances, fate
who's had no heart since birth,

solutions surface, but far too late
so situations fall on earth.

Attempting to keep a tame composure
which is all anyone can do,

As landscapes go
its not dramatic
no high plains drama
no fragmented paving stones

the cliffs are banded
like wrapped candy-cane

Not even a lighthouse
to relieve the ash-like mud lines

It has a timeless sense
I could be a Victorian
a genteel visitor
or a rocker's moll

I sit on a gluteus shaped dip
of rock on the shore
in fact- place of daughters
genesis

her dad thrust & fumbled
under cover of twinkling
sheets soft ebbing swooshes

Gave me what I wanted

fish finished fucking,
both breathless and soaked, must one
sleep in the dry spot?

Love pierces the broken heart into a thousand pieces
My love, the continuous blood that is flowing
Knowing I lost the chance
Knowing I can’t get it back
The stained blood on the carpet
The imprint of my love
I was at war with love
Love has won
And took my soul…

I will wear red for Mary on this, her funeral day,
This tumbledown wet morning
Hemorrhaging manure and mud,
Her small farm
Deep in nettles and rusted things,

Scented with cows’ breath.

The whine of wet dogs
Still haunt the hollow barn,
Roof tiles missing, sky winking.

The frog-squat of the ancient church,
The place to give her up,
Chilled mourners
Stamp impatient feet on the damp slate floor-
Not quite approving of her life

the manner of her death -

Plague of the town
Hide when he is seen
He is believed to be dangerous
Though evil as he may be
He is indeed wanted…
Wanted for others satisfaction
To curse at…
To throw rocks at…

Miserable because of his ways
He cannot find happiness
Collapsing faith crushes the mind
His mission, to change you
He is very wanted…
Wanted for others satisfaction
To hit…
To make bleed…