from freshly turned soil
nostalgia drifts
a raw sweet aroma
born of the season's virgin breath

space billows
reveals a stage
the light of my past beckons softly
and I return to a scene
that count has concealed

shadows shimmer in deep eddies
melodious tones
of times now long gone
fresh paint, new carpet
pristine polished timber -
the feel, the comfort of my very first home

WINGS

I seek no magic
no Christmas dreams
no childhood anticipation
of exciting things
no wanderings into fantasy
and imagination.
I have no place to hide
any more.
I have no wings

Canto Six ~ Gundhag the witch returns home and immediately sets about the difficult task of determining the truth of the mystical child’s presumed possession. She is not entirely convinced the Arch Demon Childéan Kew resides within the boy.

it has many swings
none are ever empty ...
during day,
young gals and kids run around

during midday teens abound
till the evening....
yet at the stroke of nine
the moon when it does shine
many gals and guys one finds
entwined,
see-sawing and swinging
in happy unison
the garden is like Eden

In streams and currents gently flow our dreams,
to leave the conscious nap and rest awhile.
Away they carry anguished inner screams,
from worried, busy walking streets that rile.

Most dreams don't often last and shortly thrive.
They almost fade, unably pass-unmaintained.
While wished to ever live in frames alive,
they'll be forgotten once they pass–non gained.

I walked today,
without the laughter,
of the children.
I felt empty and so alone,
the world may have ended
Please tell me I am wrong,
I cannot see!

There seems to be an empty space
in front of me.
Yesterday they were here,
I heard them so

Please tell me what,
has made them go.
I cannot see
it’s hard for me
to listen to emptiness.

Just tell me
I am wrong
and it won’t be long.
Before the children return

Gallop
down fields of conception
enraptured fence lines woven
night
this rippling shinning running
might

Caught struggling with dreams
I heard your approach
and found the stillborn seam
where moonlight spill
will turn your leg

a lucky break
the screams
against the dunes
where gulls shall
wake

the thimble weight
darning socks
fishermen run
with lantern
iron and stock

THE MARK OF CAIN

You are darkness
the serpent’s kiss
the voice that lies
and the look that shames.
You are hell’s enchantment
and you kill the light
in me.

owe allegiance to no one
nothing
no dogma, doctrine,
nor desperation's dare

from the silly to the savage,
all concoctions
slither through the sieve of truth
spreading toxic puddles of delusion
and despair

shallow encounters
deceive
immersion, soul suicide

abscond
walk alone the remaining miles
breathe, taste, shiver the excitement of fresh airs
return home
newborn
empty

I drove them through the mountains
the winding roads
in clouds washed screens
could hardly see the road ahead

so watched the rear view mirror clean
they were entwined
like a serpent and a bottle of wine..
corked up then their hands,
drove
it was slightly cold I switched on the heat
they warmed up smiled
so it seemed...

thank you
could he have heard through the darkened glass
such awakening and in my nerves a striking lightening