Before the world was given hue,
ere mountain rose or forest grew,
and young was river under sky;
before the frost capped mountains high,
when young was leaf and new was root 5
and youthful brooks run round the foot
of hilly country, wide and far,
and lightened by the roaming star;
when wind would whisper with a voice
and grasses in response rejoiced, 10
the maiden's song, creation's strain
still could be heard. A sweet refrain.
Creation's strain, the maiden's song

The void was wider than first appeared
Bigger and deeper than he had feared
Emptiness there, was all he could see
Sick to his soul, spewing debris

Who would know, what was happening then?
It was something quite beyond my ken
If only I had known... if he had let me in
Then I might have saved him from his sin

He disappeared, then came back one day
Wanted to know, if he’d been away
I couldn’t tell him, ‘cause I didn’t know
He’s my brother, but I didn’t see him go

Trás-Os-Montes

faz um milhão de anos
parece
que deixei os vales
altos
trás os montes
altos
acima do mar
onde a lua amarêla pålida
faixas de vermelho escuro
sangra noite
e a chuva entristece dia
Há lugares nêste mundo
onde vai a natureza
a chorar a sua tristeza
lugares que seguem
o coração
onde quer que vai

'Antique Mustard'
Is the colour of
bile
It's going to be
revived in
vapourous vintage
magazines of
style

I never liked it
only said it was
"Devine"
so you'd be
inclined
to behave like a
rampant dog

The pre-paint sex
was splashed
on our walls
mingled with the bile
secretion

It's a primative pleasure
to look at the walls
and secretly want to
smell
them

how happy can Loved be can you imagine
for siding me
the world of poets have taken my advice,
more compose freer verse
and avoid being routine-sh terse
many no longer adopt
ab ab ac ac
and what have you,
if Loved didn't exist
nor would have Shakespeare too

So be yourself and express
what you need to say
poetry is just an emotion
a flow of feelings
a desire only to ease tension
as more share with you gradually
so thank
Lovedly

The protoplanetary disc
would make a man.
Organics there assumed a risk
and life began.
In alkali of nascent rain
new RNA had much to gain
and much to lose with lofty plan
to make a man.

The chemoautotrophic bisque
unhurried span
abundant seas now teeming brisk
with microbe clan.
And bathed in this interior~
The Universal Ancestor
shaped carbon as an artisan
to make a man.

Bisque; a rich soup (French)
As for the rest of it~ Google!

If my mind is ever present
and my solitude's a friend,
dark ideas lead to actions
darker actions, towards a trend;

a stoic calm is my exterior
never, ever break a sweat,
in the hollow of my inner being
I've this appetite to whet.

Within the chasm where my soul goes
a dank pulsating yearns to start,
tuning out the distant conscience
because I haven't any heart !

Hope is gone,
Dreams are dead,
Angry words were the last said,

You slammed your door,
You sped away,
My heart swore to me you’d stay,

It was just a fight,
We both had lied,
But I let it touch my foolish pride,

You wanted to forget it,
To just move on,
God I wish I had now that you’re gone,

Tears stream down my face,
As I cry your name,
I didn’t realize I could feel this much shame,

Snowing in the angel garden.
a hush soft and stilled is waiting.
calamity unfolds her pure wings,
and sheds a feather.

She will not shiver.
her warmth is strong!
the muse delivers,
a quill,
a charm.

The fire speaks
stirring sharp, its
textures through
the ash stained glass,
making dancers in the dark.

And in the foyer all
alone, the eucalyptus
stands in a jar of stone.

It's four A.M. the cold wind blows
seeking entry into silent house
yet tired eyes refuse to close
pen darts on paper like a mouse
transfering thoughts and verse from mind

Through the window sickle moon
slowly slides across the sky
daylight will be breaking soon
as frost forms on a land turned dry
on mantle, clock gears slowly grind