Mould long beneath winter's cold white cloak
stirs in the breezes of spring, its thaw,
bugs develop in the sudden warmth, 
leaves heave in relief, some made into a pictures
collaged to a stone or gathered tight together
making strange new sculptures of random shape, 
as the march winds tear them from their resting place
they take to flight, as if to live a second life.
 
Now faded, dressed in browns and murky greens,
caught up, they cartwheel down the paths we tread,
beside us as if to compete, spinning like wheels

Give me a view to remember
You know the favourite one
naked-obviously

My daily thrill wrapped up
in skin dewy

The hair fresh from processing
swathes in molton sheets
like a hooker wearing
a synthetic wig

Draping precious threads
smothering masculine
contours

Skin hair sweat
trickling between
soft crags

Your tumescence
piercing silver curtains
sprayed with
cascading comfort

A new day dawns with heavy air
weighted by pollen and with dew
as rising sun begins to stare
at springs blooms opened everywhere
their pastels pleasing to his view

I breathe deeply then I sneeze
wryly smile at "silent" stalk
a nearby gobble makes me freeze
and quietly curse my allergies
then I resume my sylvan walk

Two weeks ago the world was bare
all was gray, pine green and dun
now leaves are sprouting everywhere
as doves and song birds start to pair
frosted mornings now are done

what bodes love’s cheerful glee?
if in passion’s parlour lay,
deftly from lover’s eyes obscured
the dismal residue of reverie’s decay
why so serene love’s panting spell
that lights the eyes of mortal beings?
till heavenly sweet their blessed dream,
unchallenged through the darkness beam,
and on their cheeks the rosy blaze
of blooming peace sublimely mirrors
the purer zeal thy raptured hearts arrest
love is but a contamination of the soul
while o’er the placid look unmoved,

protracted stitches
circumference of each orbit
abrade motives

time chewed
and spat impiously

Descartes cursed
banality of insights

this abscessed “being”

Abdicates

abreast of nightshade tipping the moon
hands of iron cupped my desire coaxing me,
into the shadow-lands of my obsession

the shades moved
as your fingers found their mirror,
and iridescent trails of dark-light
kaleidoscope across my skin

I have visions of your hands
and their movements,
I feel a rush of want
to pull in their need

obsessed
I watch each wave
within every gesture

My great friend rested in the forest
Wrapping himself in the beauty with dreams
Enjoying the trees,
The light played hide comes seek
Leaves sailing as ocean ships in a breeze
This was his world as he thought of it
Always there to enhance his being
Part of the earth he loved so much.

American Fault Line......

when you talk of her

also say solo
my mind rushes
flushes and blushes
as a sailor why!
you ought to know

but that your lover be a boat,
I needn’t quote
twas a surprise
for anyone to read
poetry
as lovely…

O what a coincidence
my mind resembled some ones
but hello sailor
I like to read real poetry
of a sailor at sea

as one rests the night
in a country …..
as foreign as distant from home,
it can be

there is blindness run
like a stain
spreading specimen
illuminations

the soft decay
of our mortal meeting
closed off like the empty
Halls

rain filled and dust kept
annointed with ghosts
and winds

The fire consumed us
like a hungry
burning like brands
striving heavenward

broken halos

caustic tridents touch
in May ritual

I wake
while snow
crawls towards
the alley
past the bent
lamps

fraudlent and free
we wear our scars