If Billy Maher wrote religious poetry,
I'd be crushed by an audience of laughter.

(The thinker, there, exposed.)

Did that get your attention, darling?
Now take me away from this mundane
field of stars where Rumi throws
his seeds of sperm--words I must taste to remember why
it is the sunlight that grows every shadow.

In your hands I am a soliloquy of prayer.
Recite me. Let me read your lips.
Take me to that forever place
in your heart that is pure, love that can
never be reconciled.

Fire and claw
the devil's dancing out

tonight
under the bushes
low winds howl

the bowels of the earth
have opened wide,
they spew the latent odours
from their guts
and roam secretly
about below the huts of man,

stirring the brew
of fogs legs
and toads slippers
to a pulp
among the rotting fungi

a smile a mile across
as the gape of the earth parts
swallows the woods

the flakes are falling
soft in purpose
like the sky turning
announcing her
mystic shine
beyond the fond
blank manner

how many blanket layers
cover the distant autumn
the summer laugh of
joyous balsam dancing
in he wind and the livid
skies aflame in rays
reaching

the streetlights are coming
on along the shores
and the dark green
waters hold their calm

I want a night of dreamless
realm
dark headiness
and sprinkler ghosts
rushing wet damp
pavement

You are perhaps
The cynosure of many eyes
despite your blue eyes,
you are the poet of five decades
that’s not old yet
the age is of no significance
time and the water
that has flown down Mississippi
or Thames,
may be Nile or Ganges combined
doesn't show or give off my age.
I care but tuppence
as my mind is young,
a teen’s
and
as an actor of poetry ,
as it seems
I’ m just an adolescent
and
upcoming in many a poets dream,
Albeit
perhaps, it’s too late,