Monday, 21 January 2008

To My Star

Today is my mama's birthday
She is 68
and i don't have a poem in me
to describe how i feel tonight
so all i can inadequately say is --

Thank you for your endless Love, you mean everything to me..
Happy Birthday, my Star, I Love You.



so you want out
you want to get off
you want to stop
and stop, just stop
life is a whip my friend
and it won't stop
but you can take the lashes
and enjoy the pain
there is no other route
there is no other way
where to from here?
sucked back to the black hole
where everything we need
is out of reach, where we cry
and don't know why or even
care anymore, where all we
know is we feel love stirring
inside of us
and it aches and hurts
and we need someone to see it
truly see it
and let it love them
and to bathe in the cosmos of love
inside of us
but we are tired of the travail
and come up empty and hate filled
and try to soothe un-comfort-able hearts
and all we really want
is to take the wings
and let the compulsion
to let go
take us over..

Saturday, 12 January 2008

Kismet Way

The lake looks good today, she would stroll beside and sit at the edge on the flat rock, and watch diamonds and birds emerge from the water. The lake held tears and she had come to listen to the tributary song.

‘Listen, can you hear the wind weave and roil? Keep moving, keep moving, and don’t stay still for too long.’ Is it too late to create another cosmos? Can spirit be taught to rid the pile of pebbles so as to praise the stars once again?’ Questions rose from the lake like steam.

The hill was steep and the summoning to a shady tree fell soft to her weary eye. She lay down and admired the angles of the bristly grass, broke bread with leaves, and folded trees into herself. Her shoulders fell back against the paper bark tree, kismet spiriting across her eyes, her skin in summer patina.

She hummed a tune she remembered she had tasted once before on a hot night, where moths and moonlight danced a dervish, and the fae clasped hands in a circle, skipping about with the wind caught in their shiny fluid dresses.

She wondered about owls and what they witnessed at night. She thought to ask them the next time she was dining with the nocturnes, and press them about their secret blue visions while the town dreamt in shadows and sepia tones, shadow boxing in the essences of the subterranean.

A bee hovered near. She smiled, remembering her wings were resting safe in the silent cave at the bottom of the mountain. Bees don’t know much about owls and wisdom is best eaten fresh, honey was the food she craved; it never spoils.


Thursday, 3 January 2008

Shades of Ever

outside the city
i met a man
he told me that
the sky chokes
a stale eye
words were passed
on an old piece
of paper, something
about the world of man
and the shades of ever
i can't finish
this song without
a tune


eye in the sky
why do you whimper
have you lost
your piece of sun
stir the tides
so we can feel
the movement of water
upon our feet and remember
that warmth doesn't always
come from flames
long are the nights
where you wrangle with
the corks of messages
in a bottle, so many
corks sealing little rivers
sit with me and tell of
stories from the days
of starlight and fires
by the lake, we will laugh
seeds, we can cry music
and i will embrace your

Wednesday, 2 January 2008


Dirty rag doll,
twisted body
and unraveled seams,
she looks for her being
deep within heart dust,
holding a blunt needle
with a fine eye.

Flinching at the stroke
of precious balms,
seeking oils of anointment
for her veiled
and sorrow-crowned head.

Clutched to her chest
is the desert she hid
behind her back,
pleading her chalice filled.

Revive her nomadic,
fertile lips,
for she has longed
and longs to sup.

Porous, dust coated tongue
water-zealous, earth drought mouth.

Has she not been
sapless for years?
Has not the wine drenched
altar of her sins
been adorned with wilted lilies
long enough?

Mercy, mercy,
pledge your salvation

And what of Love?
Love nestles deeply
in sister-ilk spheres of scars.