The stream (all workshops)
BEYOND HORIZONS
Into violent waters
deep I fall
waiting for the calm
I know will never come
I long to be
on some distant shore
in safety’s keep
beyond horizons far
to sleep
and dream as before.
The barbecue is all set
A new chef in charge of meat!
He’s cooking up a new recipe
They’ll really have a treat!
Of course, it’s a secret recipe!
It couldn’t be any other way
And as long as they don’t know it
He knows just what they’ll say
This stuff is so damn tasty!
Can I have your recipe?
“I’m sorry folks, it ain’t happening
It belongs to only me
Enjoy the tangy sauce I made
Wash it down with beer
The kids need another burger
Put your plate right over here
With winter comes the final feasts
the ending of a worn out year
and seeing far through naked woods
breathing air that's cold and clear
but..........
Monochromatic soon grows old
too little color in the world
too many numbers in the power bill
late winter....season of death
......by now I like the winter less
At long last life returns with spring
pastels in 'most every shade
that first day of short sleeves
with luck worn on a fishing trip
all is well
Until...............
lengths of silence
like a dream beneath the skin
of sky
the vault of articulation
the tradgedy of speaking
longing donor words
escaping
slipping up the valley stream
brilliant as a forecast
impending as love
fractured
and set with love struck
aching
grip me this granduer
captured
I feel the candour
turned about
an interest
fasting
losing reflections
for the flare of
amazing attributes
the mists from
broken mirrors
Sand-like cliffs reaching up as towers
their sole purpose, but to measure hours,
feels a though I'm stuck in a cage
resulting in more visitations with rage;
There's not enough drink to fade it away
and too much left to quit it, today.
A good woman could help me put it down
but, there doesn't seem to be any of them, around.
A casual elegance--
you never speak in black and white,
mixing the analogy with various
shades of rain.
Forlorn clouds sweep across your eyes.
If the evening mist pays homage
to the alluring moon, there is faith
in summer's yielding kisses,
there is roundness
in the beckoning horizon.
Wild is the grass that bends to your touch,
my love. I love you more than this poem
can say but only distance grows.
If we could go back
would we ever have eaten
that stupid apple?
Who drives away the buzzing flies?
From a lonely calf without tail
When the wounds are open and sore
With no helping hand of shepherds
It must graze like others to live
Green grasses cover the meadow
Houseflies, tsetse flies and lean wasps
Hurry to the nibbling beings
Those with tails swung high and low
To attack, protect and to kill
Driving away the intruders
Who bring, with them, sickness and death
Spreading infections while they nosh
The tailless stands defenselessly
Seemingly tough and immune
These rhymes can really be a pain
when I sit down to write
perhaps it isn't worth the gain
have the free versers got it right?
Searching my brain for the word
which avoids that sing-song sound
should I use endured, inured or turd?
decisions make hollow head pound
Then there are rhymes merely near
but how near is close enough?
each time I use near rhyme I fear
that it still sounds a bit Too off
Sassy cat and chirpy bird,
dirty looks from both.
I don't give a rats behind
and that's what I give most.
Important isn't what it was,
this I clearly see.
So what I do is what I want
and do it happily.
.
Monsters, imps and goblins
can just go take a leap.
I refuse to let them
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