The stream (all workshops)
As the fire burns down
the old man feeds it a log
then sits back and dreams
Long past days of youth
bring a quiet smile to his face
memories of her
He then remembers
and the smile melts like spring snow
loneliness takes hold
I've been lost in the eyes of the precious
and breathed gasps of air in so full,
payed no attention to the view from the crowsnest
putting too much faith on the hull.
I've found solace when sad sorrow was boss,
lost perspective in a wee child's grin;
was coerced to feel the sadness of a loss
to truly feel how it was to win.
I understand things much more clearly
from outcomes of events so damn weird;
that sometimes, the folks I hold dearly
will hurt me much more than I've feared.
1.
We were long into the summer
with the grass sweet and
the crabapples grainy and sour
on our pre-pubescent tongues.
The sun shadowed a clock onto
the street and it was time for food
and families.
That night I lay in bed with the
radio courting my dreams
while you slid into my friend's room and
seduced him to join you
in a world of make-believe,
helping him to get dressed;
pull those pants up around his neck
and tighten the belt.
In the parks
and parties,
he charms hearts
with his tricks.
He chases away
other's sadness
to fill the day
full of laughter
His colourful silly attire
makes people smile,
forgetting their worries
even for awhile
But he is a human
like you and me
bound by emotions,
his wants and his needs
Beneath the painted face
he struggles to survive,
living life at his own pace
to keep his dreams alive.
a barrage of rain pours
melancholy onto rooftops,
filling my heart to capacity
with stagnant pools of alienation
I wish I had someone to hold me
in weather like this
as the trite emotion in my gut
reminds me that I am no different
than any other sentimental human being
but the loneliness at the brim of
my heart will never spill over
and the rain will stop pouring
but I will still be here
loveless
cellar door
slate roof
homemade bombs
and mythic truths
the shadow
of a mountian home
where roads snake
goat path swerve
and borne tunnels
tin funnels
torn shirts
and sheets
for flag flown
ideal sown
tractor petrol
four cyclinder logic
vodka tonic
and the cold twilight
supremacy
of a God
the ghosts lain
the years slain
rising like the springtime
meadowflowers
It's Saturday morning , I'm awake
from a strange and haunting dream
(And I hardly ever recall dreams)
they come and go like a wet weather stream.
I was floating up above the land,
(as, in dreams, folk so often do,)
surveying scrub land and red sand.
Over Australia I flew.
Somehow I knew this wasn't now.
I'd gone far both in miles and time
to a past decades ago
ere I had written my first rhyme.
TRANSITIONS
My soul clings
to me
like a child
to his mother
for fear of it's
immortality
I see you from a distant
my yells fall on deaf ears
the window pane is the barrier
I step out in the open
the snow chills
but the hearts warmth thrills,
I seek to hasten up
as in the wilderness slaps the breeze
reminds me of stark nudity
as I have left the brief
naked in mind, body and soul
I hark for thee
Oh Lord I am still unable to stalk
as I now alone walk.
to return to my cove
a blessed dark
cold merciless dungeon
saddened by my folly
that you will hear me
maybe!
Of everything a man is able to have
My hand has been a flock of swans
And the time of cabal is the same as
the time of humiliation
I guess
Deserts will again
Always lonely
Remind of some
Mysticism
Because I am the breath from the start
till the end of a stream
What I've always been
Alone
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