I stand here
Naked
wriggling, slightly
in the song of
your scrutiny

and
suddenly
there's glorious
mutiny
inside of me

I begin
to believe
I Am Beauty

The sky crumbling
Loose strands
Of clouds
Prelude
To roundabouts
Of floodgates.

Gush - gush -
Breakwaters open.

Tides

Tides

Tides.

See the spectator
Rushing through the wind,

Stings
And scars
Under waded footprints.

When I see
a tulip, a rose, in sunshine
I see
your lips, your blush, your eyes
A Lotus blooms,
I sense your awakening
I see
the ripples in a pond
and feel
your desire
In the breeze
I hear your whispers
in the rustle of leaves
your sighs

When I see
two swans necking in the pond
I am consumed
in our bliss

walking with Wõden

weir-witched warlocks
wearily walking ways
where Wõden whisked
weathered wherewithal
wondering -- wistfully why --

wailing waifs wager
wadded walleted wafers
wanting wanton wands
whose waywardness

waives wakeful walls --

where warlike wardens
warn warmed-over witnesses
washing warrior's warships
with wary wargs

At dawn,
still water mirroring
emerald silence
of forested hills
marching up to mountains
on all sides,
we set out across the loch
when tide was high and blue
with cloudless sky,
oars trailing coiling whirlpools,
the hiss of water underneath
and creak of rowlocks on still air,
while beneath our boat
the ocean filled with pulsing jellyfish,
delicate,
clear mantled,
ringed with purple,
bright against the dark of depth.

In Spirit Of Tomorrow

Past, has passed away,
Nothing in this world
Can bring it back today
Future we all anticipate
Live in hope
Of a happier tomorrow,
So many want
To indulge
In spiritualism,
But all forget to live
With what we have
And
That’s as sure as the sun,
That’s today
The present
Which is heaven sent
We forget
The god gifted present

`

Raindrops trickle on the forest's brow
Forming transparent puddles,
That reflect your querying face
And catches the dream of a moment.

Storm cells brew on the radar,
Fearful in their presence as they pass
Life on the brink of forever's portals
Until thunder morphs into cuddles .

In the streams your form takes shape,
Eyes that gaze with hope and love
Flowing into a moving river of blooms
Summer showers caress the fields.

`

Hunger
the daily companion
motivating the hunter
urging him beyond his endurance
to kill

At last cutting a deer's track
by spoor, a fresh passage
cloven prints in fresh snow
indicating the way to go

Decision :
speed to catch up with the prize
or stealth to insure surprise ?
compromise
rapid progress with still pauses
sixth sense now screaming
heart pounding
pulse racing
mouth watering
prey is near

Time to get down wind of trail

Halos fill my eyes
In the distance there is no light
Words come and go then disappear
Only to reappear partial and broken as lies

The pain surges and pulses
With each heartbeat
And will not end

Objects appear before me
Breathing and taunting
Close
Much too close

I reach for a shadow
That was never there
Brushing it aside
Into the air

The ache
The pain
Is always there

Colouring Mountains

The child shrieks delight,
though her hand’s unsteady
placing brush to paper
see a Picasso colour splash,
change the pure white.

Shrieking again annoyed,
then happy as she,
understanding the brush.
will return, fully loaded.
With the beautiful coloured magic
to transform her paper bright.