Through the eyes of a stranger,
I walk the crowded streets,
My thoughts hidden behind
A façade of indifference.
Always writing under breath
Each step the rhythm of a song

I listen for the murmurs,
The stories left half-told,
And with borrowed breath,
I weave their words into verse,
A silent chronicler,
Of lives intertwined.

Beneath the surface of each face,
A universe of fe...

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Expectable tracing
a light spreads a fire
a dark at night

red clouds natural science’s task of decipherment
diagrams expend texts reported by the coast

a snap, a rasp, a chatter on the seabed

Onagas castanet in Ginkgo
precursors foreshock zoology
cumbrous seismisms mackerel skies
the scenery blurs
long hairs in the north in Gamelion
Hinoko rainbow between mountains
black, yellow ...

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Kneeling at the window as if in prayer

He looks out at the night

The surrounding trees are black shadows

Barely seen against the indigo of the sky

No stars shine tonight

But an unrisen moon lightens the air a little

With an almost imagined spectral light

Somewhere over the distant lake an owl calls

And calls again

A late moth blunders against the open window

Otherwise...

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There is always a poem after this one; 
the understudy to today's centre stage: 

This poem however, is never unimportant, 
it is as individual as the poem that follows; 
many written poems have unwritten forbears- 
each poem is breathed and lived; rarely spoken. 

The panorama of this poem is found in one place – 
the window of its reader's imagination; 
so each poem is the beginning po...

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I might make you laugh, but I might also make you cry,
I might give you answers or make you question why.
I can look so serious or sound really quite absurd
I am divine unseen pen pictures designed to be heard.
I will make comparisons to shine a light inside your heart
I’ll begin our stories with with an epilogue or end them near their start.
My language can be quite colourful, yes I have be...

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`

when the clack of keyboards cease
and pages of unbound books
scattered by the indolent breeze
produce a melancholy dirge

think of all the unwritten words
that remain stillborn in the mind
much like the gilded pheasant
out of the snare and into the fire

 

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`

Cry we all toward places unnamed

Rise above the crested hills

Yell we will - shattering door frames

Plundering thoughts of plovered wills

Tear at the wallpaper - reveal the grain

Ink the slate - etched by wound-dipped quills

Crouch, prowl - ready to pounce on game

Brandishing swords, blaring trumpets shrill

Arching backs, phosphorescent wicks ...

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