Whatever Happened to Him?

Through sliding door the bulbs have failed

All wiring wrong

This life’s not mine

It doesn’t shine.

Electricity’s gone

No switches on

There is no song

The wine stays on the vine.

A need to flee

And to be free

But escape itself a jail.

Roads are closed

And sign post’s down

The flood has risen

And hope has drowned.

The damaged goods at the factory

No buyers for the failed

Are stored out back behind the shed

Silently waiting for someone

From some charity to come

 

And make them into bedding for the poor.

But charity’s feet should lead to my door

So the bedding is for me.

I have sucked form the nipple of the devil

That milk’s an endless well

The more is sucked the more the need

His breast becomes a pregnant swell.

So nothing’s changed

And the bedding’s still for me.

When does a kiss begin?

When does a kiss begin?

Does it begin with the warmth of a jumbles-crunched blanket

Between two smiling, lightly touching bodies

Caressed with good morning eyes and slowly waking limbs knowing

that they are in the right place?

Or does it begin at a greeting door, with a question,

A brief touch,  hope and curiosity? Or soon after at a meal eaten table, lights dancing off empty wine glasses, with softening lips and firming optimism, when hope becomes raucous laughter and a knowing comfort that each lip, plate and glass is in the right place?

Or is it before that? Is it every step before? The understanding that the fifty-eight facets of a brilliant cut diamond, side by side, dance differently with each jeweler’s craft. Reflections that understand each is perfect and in the right place?

Whenever it is, I am glad that kisses begin.

WHIRLING

floating in the winedark sea of night

in the rocketboat of eternity

lights of fire fall from the sky

night is black and the storm is high

an orgy of windwhipped water

like crystal-meth crazed dervish

whirling, whirling, forever whirling, arms spinning to Neptune’s slaughter

THE DAY BEGINS - 2

The day begins

The sun’s a thief

Light-fingered master

Who calmly stole the night.

The cars that drift by

With passengers inside

Are madly spinning planets

Round the master’s lofty flight.

They listen for the pulse that shows direction for the day

The clocks that keep on ticking keeping time itself at bay

It’s nine o’clock they must be there

Or buildings will fall down,

Or so it seems as I walk along, watching faces wearing frowns

But then an unknown face outshines the sun, her

Smile sustains the light,

The music of her movements is the rhythm for the day,

I have seen the symmetry of poetry at play, and

Love,

and life,

and walking hand in hand,

and sailing on a bay.

THE DAY BEGINS - 1

I can feel the light show

I can see the wind blow

I can hear the sunrise

And touch the soundwaves in your eyes

I can see the flowers grow

I can hear the water flow

I touch the sun as it sets down

And feel grass-growing life on warming mortal ground

I can hear the night shine

I can see the birds rhyme

Silent softly past my window

As I feel the flowers gently grow.

And then another light show starts the day,

Slow release, the morning silent still,

The birds are back and smiling

As the light-show’s clock

Has struck my window sill.  

NO WINGS TO FLY

I was there, I'm sure I was.
Remember! Arena shows
With chords that shone and flew.
Words, people, places ran like wine not aging their eternal vine,
But energy drawn simply from the dew.

The music, like a bird in flight was free.

But now I frown
in darker parts of town.
Some things I wish I hadn’t seen
And places hadn’t been.

Dischords were played  by accident
In songs that suited not.
I remember what there was, but am drawn to look ahead,
Over there is a lordly cross.

On churchroof steeple glued,
Looking down on all but standing tall
and praised from bended knees.

From its nest it controls to show lordly superiority.

But it’s not a bird, and cannot fly
as fixed in place it sits,
So freedom jailed or songs that failed,

It still it has no wings to let it flee
to cresting, swirling breeze avail.

I want to fly as freedom does,
But with wisdom there's great cost.
A light was there, but I’m now aware,
Both flight and knowledge have been lost,

A life once lived, completely burned,

Like lives in a holocaust.