throw back the velvet glade
you need no key
the eyes
fire
shinning like the flash
on your sleeve

pick locks
and stop watch

memories buried
like a funeral cairn
I cant lock you
out not ever

On this cold clear winter night
when three quarter moon holds sway
and casts on all a bluish light
almost as strong as break of day

Out in a terraced open field
uncovered patches now are seen
for the snow's begun to yield
uncovering the clover's green

Trees, unlike when they had leaf
as entities in the forest stand
by white they're given sharp relief
like marchers in a jumbled band

You bathe me in your glow
the warmth of your voice
gentle and dripping

the halo of fire about
the crowns rising like red birds
in the dust smote skys
like red stars spiralling
in the rust of galaxies

I am drowned in my past
and you are a swimmer
my mermaid dreamer

how it all glimmers
in this seasons cold
wrapped with the darkness
erasing happiness

words given and I reach
losing more of the wall
your dance
flights about me
this longing I never knew
tears me free

The Dark Forest

With a rucksack full of presents I set off to see my Gran
Never thinking of the road that lay ahead.
Wandered down the track; then bolted, I ran and ran and ran,
As a voice hissed "you'll be found tomorrow; dead!"

I stopped inside a clearing, clutching tight my ragged coat
And realised that I was lost and cold.
Before I could move on, a monstrous weasel grabbed my throat,
Hissing "When will men prize life instead of gold?"

I remember as a young man dreaming of falling in love
my dreams were for a special girl made in heaven above
the kind of girl you come by only once in a while
then she walked into my life with her precious smile.

I remember when I first saw her in the middle of the room
next to the dance hall, where we’d dance our love tune
and when we became friends how it was never enough
as I had already fallen in love.

dusting dictionaries

three dictionaries
Random House unabridged,
Oxford English,
and an old Webster
on a shelf --

being removed often --
perused --
best reading material
in the house

rarely need dusting --
they don't stay in one place
long -- always being used

dust is one of the words
found within them
soot, smut, powdery dirt,
very small detritus

dictionaries care not what words
inhabit their pages
lexicographers do

He is wrong, it's what we're taught ...

but were we informed?

Racist crap draped in artistic expression
is shit on the shoe of the human experience,
can the words be said without the added
punctuation of separation?
Shouldn't all forms be allowed,
should every shout be commonly heard,
should the offensive leave our eye,
or should we reach out,
handcuff the arm of the other man,
until all is forgiven, or one is swayed,
but then where would we be?

When winters' chill
arrives, via
an icy wind, so cold;

it's quite enough
to convince this man
he's getting far, too old.

The seasons' breath
will do it's best
to further make its' case;

by sharing an empty,
hollow shrill,
that gives lonliness a face.

With winter as
an only pal
that never seems to end;

I'm made aware
the trade's not fair
if I'm not allowed one friend.

a kernel mix…

Do see the pastries in the box oblong,
can you hear the starling shrill its song.
Could the mixture so perfect, be erased,
will we know life, where song’s not praised.

One a texture from a hand well learned,
the other a thing of beauty, hard earned.
Could mixture or song play to conclusion,
will we lose both in manic confusion.

What size the trouser press,
to fit the girth of more or less.
Stretch the fabric and split the thread,
tailors cry material wealth, not bread.

I awake to the ever-abiding soul song of life -
the sounds of mothers calling young in fresh near light.
While the timely rooster crows and colour spirits bestir
for control of the far horizon various hued inks fight.

Stirring to the florid smell of sated, calm earth
moisturised by Jack Frost’s recent fresh-dewed call
the distant gentle pound as ocean quenches thirsty shore
a serenity which darkness has settled over all.