THE ROAD

This is a simple man

With a simple plan

Feet firmly on the ground

Take a glance 

At the distance he has travelled,

And the distance he will go

On the road 

Is where his story unfolds

Mile by mile,

And at the end of this road

There will be another, maybe winding

Maybe narrow

Overshadowed with trees

Obscured by fallen leaves

Opening up and breaking off

Uphill,

Descent

But he will proceed

His resolution is in this movement

And the trail he leaves behind

Is his statement.

AND SO

I'm letting go







This smile is too heavy to hold.

BARE FEET

We have ran around corners,
Bare-footed
Without looking and missed nothing,
Followed the clouds choking the sky
With our eyes
Then watched the same clouds cry
Jumped in puddles,
Our faces look amusing with ripples
Contorted and muddled
And when the pavement ends
We have stopped traffic
Dead end.

INSIDE

Not very pretty on the eye, this place
from my bedroom I can't even see the sky,
can't see the light
blind,
no notion of time
everything's pretty much dark,
grey,
fading away.
And they say it's no different on the outside.

FLASHING LIGHTS

We have slept through it all
Slept through the night
Seen nothing in our dreams,
Our future in burning lights
And it has burned bright.
When we have looked away
Or closed our eyes
We have still seen the fire,
Engulfing,
Singeing our eyelashes,
The vibrant pulse of flashing colours
Imprinted on our retinas,
And the optic nerve is rattled and nervous,
By the intense heat.

FALLING SLOWLY

Give me a tear,
Just one
Streaming down
Any cheek will do,
Something I can see
Something real.
If I can,
I'll take two.

WAGE WAR

A troop of clouds charge across the sky,

Packed with explosives

Bombs about to drop

Don't look

You'll be struck by a burst of colours

Streaks of powered blush

Custard creams and milky smoke,

Don't look up

You'll choke 

On the beauty

Of moving ghosts

Wisps

Engulfing and raging

Squirming then merging

Severed and torn apart,

Don't look up
Don't look.

DECEMBER

We rise and still we fall short.

POT OF GOLD

Wake up,

Sleep now and you'll miss

this

arc of light, soaring over roof tops

Spilling over tree tops

She asked,

what if it rains, will the colours run

like crayons falling from the sky

I said we've got the sun

Don't worry about the

phenomenon of spectrums

just get up.