I’ve been working on

Coming back from

The dead

Realising reality

Living in this world

Becoming me

I don’t have to know who I am

But I must know that I am

I am, I am, I am

I don’t have to know what I am

To deserve to be

I’m working on being,

Just being

Because I’ve been existing

Mindless, automatic, numb

Best autopilot, me

Coming back from the dead

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Resurrected

Down here where the beetles crawl

Where the leaves of autumn fall

A spider’s web of veins uncoil

To animate the resurrected

Sap permeates the ancient heart

A life’s blood for another start

Coursing through the body

Of the newly resurrected

Orbs of light spark into eyes

The keening of a newborn’s cries

Escapes the brittle twisted lips

T...

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Messiah Of The Fields

They left me hanging on a cross

The saviour of the summer crops

Just rag and straw so no great loss

My blood is in the wheat and hops

I faced the black and vicious hoard

Their coal cruel eyes and sharpened beaks

I am the ragged overlord

Who scares the crow yet never speaks

They pray to me to save their soils

From dark boned devils ...

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`

There must be a death
if there is to be a resurrection;
The demise of something
in part or the whole of:
that portion of one's being...
Only then shall we see
with eyes new as morning's first light.
Only then shall we have
reinvented ourselves:
allow ourselves to take the first steps
laden with amnesia
of the former, forgotten self.
Come and cease...

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In poetry, autumn is approaching death.

The mists of receding memory

part briefly in the shortening days

to feed the fruits of wisdom

to admiring young.

The dark night of winter

is a short blight

before life springs forth

again in proud perfection.

Floral beauty and rich crops

have spread their radiance,

fed their progeny, sown their seeds.

Done their job, returned to earth

to ...

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