Moving through
night urban landscape,
taste of hydrocarbons
heavy from thick traffic
I exist within,

the glow of dashboard
blood-red
on my gripping hands
and steering wheel,

Slick music hard
and oozing heavy
from ubiquitous technology
to fill reality,

power windows down
to feel new night's fresh chill
left over from old bones of winter
moving serpentine around full moon,

Life prepares us for Death. "It is my hope that every human boy and girl can graciously learn some of the dark or scarier things in life. Bruce O'Ugie recalls: One day, not too long ago, i stood there with my children, and wife. All of us crying, all of us lost. Not really sad, just longing for that oh too familiar untainted, unconditional love. Hoping for her words of wisdom. Like life prepares us for death... I had this friend named Brodie. Our mothers were the very best of friends all while we grew up, since we were babies. More like brothers than friends.

now it has come to a wretched affair
telling you this while I'm sat on a carton
telling you life is so blasted unfair -
grateful for flagons of watered-down bourbon
reason I'm living this awful nightmare ?
nasty old bank is now taking mean action
moving my furniture to who knows where
threatening to sell it, tomorrow at auction

A candle glitters there in memory's distance
It keeps aflame to ever hold the story
of previous high-spirited existence
when every season's hour was filled with glory

At times I think I almost taste the essence
past emanating from that taper's fire
and from the burning wafts forgotten fragrance
(but still familiar to blithe heart's desire)

I'm looking for what?

A search that has taken a lifetime
Seemingly to be never satisfied
With what was found

The wanting of that special human contact
Which I thought I found, but did not
It was only the perception of my own mind

Projections of my wants
On another human life, without regards
Of what they needed.

Which leads to the human relationship crash
Created by the unawareness
Of what truly matters.

Me!

Surrounded by red desert and blue ocean,
the city realises, and suffers
the magnified full impact
of the sweltering southern afternoon sun's
harsh, reflective rays.

While I seek the illusive comfort of shade,
sitting simmering in sweaty stickiness,
a vibration, a long reverberating thrum from within, rises,
unites with the oppressive weight of extrinsic heat
and wends its way into the very expanse of reality,
insidiously dulling my senses,
rhythmically sounding, echoing through my being.

There are hardwood pews at the end of the path
There are beetles that shimmer and shine
But they sit there so humbly as if they were safe
Is it all down to chance, their survival, and mine?

I used to howl for the moon, in the wind, in the storm
And sit on my own by the lake
I used to sing for the sound and the comfort
Thinking all that I had could be anyone’s take

He did appear to have possession
of a Mojo with a Konk-konk-cheroo!

his hesitance cost him, valuably;
he'd still be sitting in a room with no "view".

Take my place, won't you feel the "magic"?
one could learn a thing, or three;

this cursed, dusty, desert's hollow,
with vacant emptiness as far as one can, see.

Then, came this way....a stranger-boy
who could see right-past, the dust;

and, then know what was coming, next
with a sixth sense he could trust.

TREND

Standing on a precipice of pleasant weather
A stormy horizon seen in the distant sky
Growing driving on the winds of desperation
Life’s escape is improbable while still tethered

The cold relentless heart of winter
Reaches out with fingers refusing to remove
Its lifeless grip on the vast emptiness
A panorama of life that works to hinder

Rising winds scorch the outer skin
While still staring into the sun
In hope of feeling its warmth
Omni present, a persistent pain of needles and pins