I’m an old man, once new to this city
An outsider right in its core
This is my story without lasting glory
I was rich but fast became poor

If my life was a book, and this just one page
It would be battered and tattered and torn
Over the years the words would not matter
As the pages got increasingly worn

All this time, I’ve resisted to ask
Why the big apple possesses that name
So, I decided to venture, right into its centre
And the answer I’d hope to ascertain

He fell in love with poetry
as boy upon his mother’s knee.
She fed him rhymes to help him sleep,
read sonnets when her babe would weep.

She dressed him in a poet’s cloak,
and sang to him each time he woke.
Like Sappho, singing with her lyre,
as he lay dreaming by the fire.

Then Life dealt her a bitter blow,
and sorrow in her soul did grow.
So she could voice her verse no more,
nor nurse him as she did before.

Aberfan.

L
-A
--N
---D
----S
-----L
------I
-------D
--------E
­----------angle of repose.
---------------------------wishing
------------------------------------wishing
-------------------------------------------wishing;
--------­------------------------------------------children wore Sunday clothes.

Obi.

The truest magic of nature is in its essence profound,
Three supporting spirals are omniscient and surround,
Its eternal base of the souls connection which grounds,
And pinnacle apex the enlightened knowledge we so found.

Each part of the sacred three is fundamental and divine,
Both distinct and unique yet also to the whole entwined,
Never recorded in scripture is alive as an energy sublime,
The infinite and immortal of its elements we feel from inside.

Who am I,

I am the destroyer of worlds,

The one who conquers all that seek me out,

At first I feed you pleasure,

Until your too deep in my grasp to resist,

And I don't just want part of you,

I persist until I capture all of you entirely.

I don't have any reason,

Except to watch as you suffer and squirm,

Then I'll start leaking out to make the ones you love suffer by your own hand.

You'll be hooked from the first,

Either way you will never be the same,

To feel ur love just one more time
To kiss your lips just one more time
To feel ur embrace just one more time
To hold ur ur arms just one more time
To feel ur touch just one more time time
To caress your skin just one more time
To feel ur gaze just one more time
to look into ur eyes just one more time
To hear your voice just one more time
To feel your presence just one more time
just one more time i wish we could laugh
just one more time i wish we could share a home

Where I come from
people are afraid
of both failure and success.

Stagnation is where we all stay.
Get a safe job.
Live in a safe home.
Have a safe family.

No one takes risks
and those that do are
criticized and shamed
into falling back.

I decided to give up.

I gave up my fears.
I took the risk.

I love the English language; Well I usually do,
The chance to express my thoughts in poem,
But it always helps if I remember a rule, or maybe two.

With sixteen punctuation marks which help to pave the way,
And with about a million words which I can use,
I can usually share the things I'd like to say.

Yes there are those sentences which I must construct,
They'll be complex, compound independent or some such,
The countless words I can add, or maybe I'll deduct.

Otherwise titled:
Mien wonderful wedded divine wife....,

whose piercing deliverance,
a balm ameliorating tattooed strife
despite being dirt poor,
(especially after dirty deeds done...
generating thunderstruck ac/dc current
hmm... maybe due comeuppance
being scammed to the hilt)
suspicion toward comportment of people rife
with deliberate intent to jackknife
cumulative net worth,
and now yours truly

WORDS JUST WORDS
Our words dissolve as we speak into air,
Each word a poem, to hold new meaning.
Who stole our words for empty prayer,
and love of nature in our dreaming?

To grasp a word and stretch its purpose,
if life and death fuels imagination.
To learn from words, as they do surface,
not control use by false information.

Once we were tempted, in schooled deity,
the prayers we voiced as adoration.
To practice, aged righteous theory,
now grows weak with each generation.