30th May, 2017

It rained today, and oh boy! How it rained today! There is always something pretty immersive about torrential rain as it comes down in sheets. The word immersive may be tossed about both ways. Apart from literally doing what it implies, it severs all visual connection one has with the surroundings. With sheets of water shimmering which ever way one looks, the sense of isolation f...

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A moment in time did happen once.

                It was there and then it was no more!

Like a fickle wind that took a chance,

                To raise a head, but was gone before!

I would mull often in vacant times.

                If such a moment did occur awhile!

Or was it something without rhymes,

                As in the whimsies of a juvenile!

As ephemeral...

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A life had my thoughts, ephemeral and bright!

Coursing thru’ the skies, in a shimmering light.

                    And time reached out, in a glorious embrace;

                    Rushing me breathless, through empty space.

When the memories came, unbidden but true;

From the nether mind the feelings broke thru’.

                    Some moments to rejoice, some sharp agony.

  ...

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All those voices yet in my mind,

From the years I had left behind.

            Casting echoes in that room -

            Pulsing through the dusty gloom.

The floating dust catching the light,

Shivered with unknown disquiet!

            The echoes gathered to surround.

            They animated the space around.

People I loved, now lost with time,

Speaking thru' the years...

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I am the hunter of whispers.
I am the gatherer of brothers and sisters.  

I am wind beneath wings, soaring in a summer sky. 
I am the chiseled smile. 

I am sparkles on snow.
I am a symphonic echo.

I am the horns and halo.
I am afterglow.

I am the you everyone wants to know.
I am everywhere you go. 

I am the aha of heartbreak.
I am gamma rays beaming through dark days.

I am ...

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We are as different 

as the sun and moon,

circling the same universe,

with an omnificent God 

you don’t believe in, 

for adventures in love, 

you among the trees, 

me with my muse,

who today, lives in you.

https://youtu.be/iBy4QsOL_so

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Profound sadness 

clouds my view 

at a quarter til two. 

I don’t understand why 

my muse avoids me like the flu, 

when a simple poem or song will do. 

Wise words to help me understand

why true love passed me by

in this lifetime.

Why wrong choices,

that felt right at the time,

left me alone in this abyss

where my better self

silently bears witness

to my shr...

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Resistance is futile. 

You will not find rest

as long as I am near, 

whispering in your ear. 

STOP,  right now.

Write now. 

Talk about how 

love echoes 

in the valley of 

lost souls. 

Share your hopes, 

dreams, fears. 

I’m listening, 

channeling, 

ready to bathe you, 

in serenity. 

I am your muse, 

voice of truth, 

your...

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People haven’t always 

been there for me, 

but the muse always has. 

Lighting my path, 

healing heartbreak, 

the one making life fun. 

Makes sure suffering is not in vain, 

dances with me in the rain, 

stays beside me come what may. 

I return the favor by making

my muse’s words known. 

Spreading love as we go. 

https://youtu.be/KsZ6tROaVOQ

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I can't lie what I am feeling inside
I would hide the words that I write
Some times so embarrassed I could die

Muse me
Inspire what I think
Inspire what I dream

You changed for the attention
For me to see you is a form of affection
Now I don't see you the same way, you lost my attention

Muse me
Inspire what I see
Inspire what I feel

Poetic words drip from his lips
As the needl...

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One Hundred Days In Plague Town

I met a man in Plague Town

With bird’s beak and a long black coat

He carried a cane in his left hand

He spoke to me and I quote:
‘Don’t travel far from your fire son

Go runaway and hide

For Fear stalks the streets of Plague Town

Some are ill and others have died’

So I went back home as he told me

And I sat and counted the days

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Is it a sin for your muse

to inspire mine,

provide momentary escapes

from loneliness, pain,

the daily grind,

give words to fantasies

of the mind,

connect soul ties.

It’s hard to believe

a God of love

would consider musing 

a crime. 

If it is, that’s not a religion

to which I subscribe. 

https://youtu.be/tjdGgcFf-T8

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The Muse of music
And the Muse of poetry
Please inspire me

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In the hammering rain of last night
I slept the best I have all week
I slept deeper, longer
than I have done for months

And would you guess who I should meet there
on the dream stools
at the dream bar
ordering her dream gin
sliding me a dream beer

Well, you come here often
I don’t have to ask
I’ve seen you here so many nights before
but it has been a while
(and I’ve missed you)

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Feeling down
because my muse
abandoned me again.
Maybe to teach me
another lesson
about leaning on him,
instead of mining inspiration
from deep within.
Seeking satisfaction
outside ourselves
is perhaps the greatest sin.
It is a game no one wins.
So, back to the blank page I go.
Just me and my pen.

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All day long 

I think of you. 

I can’t wait to get home 

to be with you,

to feel your ink drip 

between my fingers.

You are my love,

my passion,

my muse.

I know you will 

never leave me. 

We are bound 

by a legacy of words, 

that braids our soul.

Our poetry echoes 

through time and space, 

leaves a soft place 

for broken hearts to land. 

# # # 

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Where is my Muse

I missed the bus

Will there be another

Oh, what a fuss

I was hoping, at best

To go for a ride

On that magical tour

With my mind open wide

To find inspiration

And maybe a friend

As Don did with Thalia

Oh, who am I to pretend...

So I wait on the corner

With my pen and my pad

Thinking that, maybe, 

This Muse thing's a fad

There's a bus ...

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To know my fingerprints
on another’s heart
could stir them into art
a priceless gift, a magic

To know there is a poem
written about me
those words, more beautiful
than I could ever hope to be

From the caverns of passed time
there comes a sound
a constant, quiet, ring
when I choose to listen
always there
telling of another way of living

That the heart of an artist
a complexly c...

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I, too have watched a myriad words die,

all for want of you, fearless audience -

your special someone with that kindly eye

and ear who could best, sans wilful offence

urge me to test myself, by composing

a thousand lines and honing them to one.

Your wisdom, without combative ego's

ingrown need to sound 'clever' (not far gone

in self-esteem, I mean) might serve adv...

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For some, the writer's plight may be staring at a blank page, fear of rejection, or resistance presented in various forms. For me, the writer's plight is being available morning, noon, and night to welcome a steady stream of pop-in visitors with expectations of providing conversation, cooking, cleaning, even childcare for hours on end.

With a Mona Lisa smile, I weigh the importance of what my d...

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Hide away 
if you must. 

I don't understand 
what prompts you 
to surface anyway. 

I will do like I always do,
show up on the page,
stumble through what 
I was put on earth to do,
share my truth.

I know even though you 
fly away again and again 
to do whatever muses do, 

you will come back, 
when I least expect
and light up my soul
with your beautiful words, 
like you alwa...

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the pain of the vacant page                                      stage

for the dance

of my pen

the fear of the frozen mind                                        blind

  to the hope

 of a rhyme

the silence of an empty house                                spouse

to the song

of my word

the hush of unwanted time                                      chime

t...

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You found your 

soul mate?

I’m genuinely 

happy for you!

Mermaids 

and unicorns 

are more common 

than soulmates. 

Please, do the lost 

and lonely among us 

a favor of great 

significance, 

Make her 

your muse

so we can 

feel love too.

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I am sorry 
to see you go,
but know you 
will fare well.

You survived hell
and have a great 
story to tell.

I know our paths 
were meant to cross
and count your departure 
as a big loss.

Even though you may 
drift far away, 
your essence remains.

Our lives are 
forever changed
from your soul flames 
and star dust.  
 

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We walk a 
fine line in 
our relationship
with others.

Words, powerful 
as they are,
miss the idiosyncrasies 
of body language 
that convey sincerity 
and good intention.

On the road 
to enlightenment,
our muse sometimes 
knicks old wounds 
that the ego 
rushes to protect. 

Our responsibility 
remains 
with freedom 
of expression,

to speak our truth 
knowing some will ...

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Passion consumed 
eventually fades.

Passion capped 
pursues us 

beyond the grave.

This revelation 
helps me understand,

our encounter was 
never about us.

It was about our muses
intertwined in the 

world of words.

We were denied 
the lasting passion
we searched for

so we could write 
our soul songs

for seekers 
to see

the ectasy 
and despair

that accompan...

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Forever ago may seem 
like 20 years of gray,
but I live forever every day.

There is no escape.

It's not the passion I miss,
I keep that memory sealed 
in a concrete kiss.

It's the lyrical 
soul connection
that went on months

before our egos
got in the way. 

In the forever between
tears and heartbreak, 

we managed 
to find ourselves 

and our destiny, here 
on this pag...

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Have I loved?
Yes, on the spectrum,
towards the sacrificial side.
Silencing my soul,
losing my identiy.
Endless nights
crying myself to sleep.
I sometimes think I would have
preferred an easy love
bouquets of rainbow colored daisies,
sparkling teeth,
a passionate love,
French kisses in Rome,
ruffled sheets,
a forever love,
hugs, holding hands, 
finishing each other's sentences...
...

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Your words flow 
though my veins 
and light up my soul 
like nothing 
I've ever known.
Chemical alchemy.
Cosmic destiny.
Beyond comprehension.
From another dimension.
Steam. My dopamine. 
 

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The razor thin space between 
stimuli and response 
is decision. 

I decided to put a  
romcom relationship
where love never ends
and be, just friends. 

It was a defining decision.

He decided that without 
certain stimuli, there would be 
no response, just an end.

Tempting as it is to give in
to conditioned responses,
I'm riding the razor's edge
into a new frontier...

A pla...

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Poetry is a 
refuge for 
a lonely life

the antidote
for pain 
and strife

warm words 
blanketing
a frigid night

tonic for thirsty sailors 
drowning in an ocean 
from which we cannot drink

To our deserted island we go 

while the world 
casts us loners, 
introverts, quiet
weird, crazy...

Let them judge 
as they wine and dine 
in crowded rooms 
on cell patrol

while w...

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You have come to visit me. 
Welcome. I have missed you. 
I often see you hiding behind the laundry, 
patiently waiting until the neverending chores are done. 
Then, when I finally sit down to talk, 
you disappear like an unwritten dream, 
leaving me speechless. 

Today, for the moment, 
you are here 
and I have so much to say. 
Won't you stay 
and be my friend?

My Muse Replies:
"Yo...

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I knocked on the door,

Not expecting an answer

Much less to be received

So when he opened up in contour,

Spoke with me without waver

I conversed to be believed

Me, nothing less, nothing more

Me, not me minus the stutter

And if not all of me, still, me

Should he shut the door,

I’d think, “it’s what I would prefer”

For I knew not of joviality

T...

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I’m not his muse, and I can never be.                        

No time, circumstance or chance will let me.                       

After all he gives and gets, loves, regrets,                 

he remains my teacher and I, the taker.                    

He is anarchist and challenging creator,                   

who advocates the belief I have no need

to be seen and posed as a...

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A Tree In The Elephant’s Graveyard

It began with a pen
and paper,
beneath a tree.
Carried here
upon a rat
to rest awhile.

The paper was white
and stared at me
insolently.
The pen hovered,
dripping ink
like tears.

A serpent
coiled itself
around My neck.
I thought of stars
and dreamt
of gouache landscapes.

Still the paper
would not
fuck the pen.
My thoughts
were clear,
...

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rendering you invisible by simply

breathing onto the glass

or drawing a heart around you as though

it might last

longer than a fairground fish

I could do either

but I spend my days

chalking my guts into the paving stones

and piling them like papers,

professionally bound

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a night too quiet

yet, even in it’s silence,

not quite enough for me

now in my head those words were read

by Richard Burton

but then she came calling in the hours

when there aren’t yet enough digits on the clock

and I ignored the advice of William S Burroughs, or some other I forget,

and told her to fuck off, leave me to the monotone

test card transmission, t...

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`

The birthing of articulated expression
will always find its means of entering
into the world outside and beyond
the inner recesses of our awareness.

I love the wee and trippy hours of the
after midnight when the glass slipper
lay glimmering aloof in the moonlight
and the weary dreamer sets some
ink of thoughts onto the parchment
of a woozy head - too...

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