Where wild horses run
Having fun
Across western sky

It had been a harrowing night,
The cold Atlantic spray had chilled him to the bone, his fingers and hands were numb.

His angels and demons had fought a fierce battle throughout the night, neither willing to concede
His sails were torn and tattered
And his body bruised and battered,
but all was not lost… not yet.

Somehow he manoeuvred through the tempest and headed in the direction of an obscure and distant beacon. He had been to sea far too many times and one way or another this would be his last trip.

G C
Ain’t got nothing in my pockets,
G D
Ain’t got nothing here to hide,
G C
Ain’t got nothing in my heart,
D G
ain’t got nothing on my side.

ON THE ROAD

I thought that eventually life would settle down
That bit of peace at last, and the time for a rest
But here I am, still travelling from town to town

At first I went North, thinking that may be best
Then I tried South, but there is a magnet in me
As now it seems that I am always heading West

Cheap motels, and simple meals in any old diner
On the road, a local radio station for company
But reaching the coast, I might feel like a 49’er

She was formed in the darkness
behind a closed door
She was tempting, delicious
my buttery whore
She imprisoned my jealousy
and garments I craved
And the drink that transformed me
considered depraved
She molested long stockings
I wore when I shaved
and bikini-like skivvies and hot lingerie
(I like dancing about with my smalls hanging out)
When I get home from Obi's
I'll look for her there
She's my confidant mistress
ma muse du repaire!

Today I am low
Predominant
Is the ebb
Of my soul

The prosaic,
leaden, sapless,
Is in vile display.

How can I find
the strength this day?
How can I care?

And caring
How could I do?

As I worked outside in my yard today,
An elderly man came walking my way.
He looked a little confused and lost,
I’ve seen that look before.

I tried to ignore him, I had things to do,
But as he looked at me, I glanced at him too.
I could tell by the look in his withering eyes,
That something wasn’t right.

He asked for some water and I said, “Of course”,
He was sweating profusely and his voice was hoarse.
I invited him to have a seat in the shade,
And slowly he sat down.

It was a day
When thin delicate
Butterflies
Dared to fly

And trees could
Worship the sun
And leaves could
whisper the wind

And currents could move
In a profusion of ways:
Wind, light, and water
Playing their rapture

It was a day
When high soaring gulls
Could silently slice sky

They took a walk on a Friday night,
Along the beach ‘neath a full moon light.
They had a seat by the old oak tree,
Her head on his shoulder, his hand on her knee

They talked about their hopes and dreams,
And then he talked her right out of her jeans.
Two young lovers just doing what they do,
She was eighteen, he was twenty-two.

He walked her home as she knew he would,
And in the doorway her father stood.
He said, “Hello dear, how was the dance?”
As she tucked her shirt back into her pants.

The sun was in its benefactive climb,
as was the moonscape of my dreaming.

And though I was not conscious
of the real world of the sun,
I was of all worlds.

Through the patterned
window of the universe
the sun came to my pane
and said, "arise,
I bring a beautiful day."

I came to breakfast
and found in my house momentary solitude,
and of this did I nourish the morning.