Sand

People hold their sand in very different regard. Some grasp it so fiercely they would kill and eat friends to keep their grains from slipping away. While others would let it all fall, to save another’s glass from shattering.

 

Down in the water
at the bottom of the well
not one colour or sound is found
no joy just one soul resides alone
you are left to your own demons
If you can face them you will ascend
to see the surface sparkle
in the sun.

 

So blinkered to what’s set out
you have not one sliver of doubt
the imagination of a sheltered louse
you walk straight to the slaughter house.

 

Looking at your shattered time
I see your broken edges shine
Vulnerable yet still you fight
Every day with all your might.

 

Tired of feeding stock
Sick of crops with blight
Now the farmers harvest light.

 

We are formed of interstellar dust
In the shape of saggy bald apes.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Untitled

The robin flickers in the tree
the blue tit flies in bobs and arcs
sparrows scatter across the branches
feathered notes play on the garden’s staves.

 

Palm trees, a beautifully silent firework
tracing a stream up the trunk
to mute exploding leaves.

 

One line written
a slice of mind in one time
by the second line
I may disagree with my first
yet a slice of time has vibrancy.

 

“No to fur” they announced, and strutted in the papers
Yet they return to wearing death on their shoulder
As if principles changed with fashion
They have no weight to their soul
They are tugged in which ever gust would take them
Nothing of substance to hold them firm

 

Imagine if you knew yesterday what you know now
I wonder if I’ll know tomorrow what I know now.

 

Do not disturb the writer
He is disturbed enough.

Fidget spin

Times move on, kids get more sophisticated. Back in my day we would have toy trains, meccano and lego. Now there are virtual reality headsets, super phones and tablets of many forms. Yet perversely, they seem to be hypnotised by watching a piece of plastic go around. Go figure.

 

Flame dart fires through the woods in play
Destructive terrorising beast they say
Blood and fleshy monster apparition
Paranoia has blurred your vision.

 

The fish are scampering on the hill
The birds have spent all their bills
All down is up and all up is down
I am trying to jump up to ground
Lobsters danced into the pots
The world is losing the plot.

 

The undiagnosed disease festered unseen.
Now we learn the shocking truth, that we are sick.
It is a horrible thing to face, a terrible thing to face.
Yet now we can see the disease, we can treat it.
We will get better for knowing it.

 

Pandora was somewhere around Ancient Greece when she decided to take the lid off the jar… Suddenly there was a terrible roar all around her and the sky was full of what looked like huge bats, all swooping and screeching and diving around. A voice was screaming ‘Holy Zeus! What are these god damn animals?.

 

Bringing the night
At dusk
Tugging a blanket of
Stars

 

 

 

 

 

 

Ygdrasil

Arid birds cawed, damning eastern flood’s gate
hard I jimmied knowing latches may never open
pleas quashed, reality soaked through undone
vanquished, wishing xero yatagan zephyr.

 

life’s connections splintered
what you cannot have you kill
your venom seeps into us all
you’re poisoning Ygdrasil
couldn’t buy the love you miss
you know it never will.

 

Norns see your evil deeds
they will take you far away
beyond the Ygdrasil leaves
away you’ll have to stay.

 

Man attacks the air in tin torpedoes
while the birds become the air
painting beauty in the blue.

 

Another failed attempt at ascension by rope
They do not understand.

Relocation

First I did not spy her, she came from higher than I can see
A rare glimpse of her magnificence, giving hope to gravity
Spreads feathered fingers to the wind, she turns away from me
Spiralling up she climbs, to infinity.

 

We never know when we are going to find we are not alone in the universe, or what the circumstances might be.
Then the following tuesday we received an Email, we have won the universal galactic postcode lottery.
Our prize, a planetary death ray, what a disappointment the universe is.

 

The many ways of growing up. Some feel they must jettison all of their childish ways, play is cast aside, in favour of dourness, all irresponsibility a sin. Angrily they clench their maturity. When they could be skating and singing, letting their child like anger fall behind.

 

Chaos’s bad humour slung our friends far and wide
We found a way to forage where they reside
What wonder in a twinkling stream
Manifesting from our dreams.

 

Cackling caws from charcoal birds
Trees spine leaves and world
Such beauty it’s absurd.

Scatterings

One day, we’ll choose to not retaliate. As if we grew up.

 

Schools,
a talent to make you resent learning,
In the time when you wished to learn.

 

Every star I encounter, someone tried to squeeze them into a jar
To keep them in their closet. To quash their glorious corona
Let her shine, be grateful you are in her orbit.

 

You hoard and keep all to yourself, not one thing you wish to share
You lack all dignity, you have no means to care
When you fall, as you surely will, you’ll need the world’s helping hand
It will be given to you, as this is our lesson’s plan.

 

Silverfish swimming in my retina
I may have pushed too hard
Streaking with my dizziness
Porcelain forever scarred.

 

Sat in the coffee house. The nerds, the jocks and the hipsters, sitting comfortably. All the discomfort of school days differences a distant memory. Well nearly. Shrunk to a shrug and a tut.

 

I do not know how it got on the mat
It was not me that did all that
I am just your innocent cat.

Choose care

The illusion of free will is the keystone to the trick.

All the engines have stopped and all the tweeting beaks have gone to their nest. The neighbours have put down their hammers and the apes are all howled out. I put my head to the pillow to pretend that there is silence. The once mute swan feathers creak with every tiny twitch of my skull. What sounds like a rhythmical tin tray band, plays with every pulse in my ear way. My heart beats my ribs against the mattress, reverberating through it’s springs. My guts churn and creak like much haunted plumbing. I wonder how I ever sleep over my own cacophony.

Reviewing my feelings. A dip in mood, not really, emotional? Perhaps. Explaining would make me cry out there walking. I see your care, it hits me every time, as I see the man in need, the other side, the side where there is nothing given, but the kindness of beautiful people like you. Such sadness meets such kindness.

Nature and nurture battle it out. How much does what we experience change us? How much is in-built, our birth code reacting to what we have to deal with. When I saw injustice, all my life I have been appalled, yet stayed clear in fear. I was painfully shy, the unknown and the scary, never enough inquisitiveness to overcome my cowardly soul. I am told I am different now, yet I feel it is just experience gauged against my rules. Edging into virtual friendship has given me experience. The fact that there are wonderful people in the world, ‘them’ are a figment of a paranoid and fearful mind. I am part of us. Though don’t bother inviting me to a party.

Pessimism laughs at optimism’s happily ever after.

The jock basks in the violence of the sound
Ignorant to the content of the lyrics
dancing to the wishes of his demise.

Transition

Two pebbles washed up on the beach. They miss admiring the beautifully coloured fish swimming by. One pebble is tall and round, on occasion he can see the fish jump. The other is low and flat, he can see nothing of the beautiful fish, just the cloud above. Each time the tall pebble caught glimpse of a fish jumping, he would boast of his height and how undeserving the flat stone was of this view, the flat one fumed, yet what could he do?
Weeks and months pass of flats fishless view, listening to the boasts of tall. Till one day a child spots the pair laying in the sand. Round pebble sits proud, while flat just lays feeling all his misfortune. Yet the child disregards the big round pebble and takes the flat one between his fingers and walks towards the shore. With a flick of his wrist flat skips four times then sinks to the bed, to watch the wonderful glimmering fish some more.

 

It’s a myth that lemmings are suicidal, and other so called suicide attempts by animals, are merely twists of truth or altruistic drones.
We alone have the unique brain to imagine so vividly, both joy and doom.

 

Generational frequencies are not allowing me to enjoy today’s music.
My frequency is long gone and only available in the historic tapes.
I cannot hear the purpose of today’s music due to our frequencies being off kilter. Not because it’s crap or anything.

 

It goes without saying,
that unsaid words are left
to fester in the ether
while ears that wish to hear them
wonder why they are withheld.

 

It has been hard,
rest now
it will be hard tomorrow.

Black armband

Even playing a man with a licence to kill, you carried enormous heart and wit, and the tiniest of guns, which you flinched to fire in fanciful yarns. Your warmth shone out, throughout your life and your work. The world will miss your love.
Rest well Roger Moore.

 

Time’s ribbon sheds another life
continues it’s mission forward
the life stained the ribbon
beautifully forever.

 

Between homes
Vulnerable as a hermit crab between homes
Naked trotting with a bag under my arm
How many miles to my new shell?

 

I was not high enough to see the pouting buds
not prepared for the new opening flowers
arrived in time for the perfume
before the petals fall.

 

A malevolent force is present in the forest, the prince travels with five guards. Soon they discover a stranger, he joins them. The stranger alerts the prince to a distant noise through the forest, one guard goes to investigate. Diamond glitter falls through the forests canopy. The stranger alerts the prince that he sees something move on a distant ridge, another guard goes to investigate. The breeze breathes gently through the branches, the stranger tells of distant danger, this time two guards leave to attend to the suspicion. The prince and one guard remain with the stranger, cordially they continue. One more noise is heard by the stranger, the guard tips his hat to the stranger and goes to see. Now alone. The prince buries his dagger in the stranger’s neck.

 

Good intentions met ineptitude. Good intentions hits the floor.
Good intentions learns to gives a kick. Ineptitude is no more.

Mountains

We watch the mountains emerge from the mist, as if they are brand new, the energy is certainly brand new. It emanates from the rock vibrating our very being, like they have only just arrived. We climb into them in twists and turns, as intruders in their realm, we watch their work with water. We observe the mountain’s vertical forests feeding clouds to the sky, we see them build and march into the blue. Higher we see water cascading high above us from the rock. As we approach the peak we find water’s final form hiding in the mist, snow bringing a sparkling chill. Before we descend, zig zagging down the other side of the mountain. To the lush valley receiving the mountain’s gifts.

As I sit in the Italian castle, I enjoy the cool breeze blowing through the open window, fresh blossom tantalises the senses. The afternoon light hits the ancient rafters lighting them in rusty hues. Through one window, the green hills roll elegantly, scattered in villas and cyprus trees. Through the right window I see Siena’s Torre Del Mangia in the distant haze. In the next room a lady sings beautifully as she cleans. A nice day.

They have peppered their peaks with holes, as if they were beetles with new wood. Every cove sprouts concrete warts. The tarmac arteries are clogged with mechanical cholesterol. The bay’s beauty long ago smothered. I can feel her heavy heart through the ether.

The ground gathered into a mountain, to prick the sky’s ego.

We are all an ocean, temporarily residing in our own bucket, the only thing preventing us being one, is this bucket. Perhaps dear Lisa we get a hole in our bucket, or sometimes look a little pale. When we finally spill from our bucket, our bucket is kicked. We merely return to the ocean.