~

Underneath my dream, idea tree
with full access to my library
where the moments only count if your breath's away;

tread soft through the canopy's veil
it's anyone's guess, in this odd tale;
are they at work? At rest? Or will they play?

~

So quick! Am I to sanitize
each moment bold, I categorize;
so I know when one does end, and the next shall start;

breathe each one in, or turn to stone
after all they're yours, alone
you gave her "life", very deep, inside your heart!

It doesn't take a holiday,
or any special time of year;

in fact, nothing "external"
what I love, or my worst fear;

coerces me to "feel" this way
I see no "rainbows", or "chirping birds",

over my years of writing continuously
I still fail to find those words!

Every "t" I cross, or "i" I dot
fail in the "mechanics", as on I write;

but, because of you, I persevere;
I want you to know, with all my might!

Vile, but soo courageous,
counter-spin the clock;

your gaze cannot put him to, view
he's underneath a rock;

cursed, days I've known him,
counter-spin the clock.

~

Kleptic, pipe-line ambush
counter-spin the clock;

all was empty, save the shadow tree
he isn't worth the chalk;

cursed, days I've known him
counter-spin the clock.

~

Dormant congeries that diddle
counter-spin the clock;

we'll fade, into shades of grey
then, he has no room to talk.

Should life send you wandering
out, and about at twilighttime,

your world could change immediatly
or stop cold, on a dime.

that pathway, that one chooses
will be a lesson learned,

one road will be less travelled
the other, you'll get burned.

Should this twilight force hit you
I can't emphasise, enough;

you're going to pay profusely
for your demons in the rough.

What you have to offer
gets split into two ways,

There was this earth-like, heavenly scent
that sneaked inside my brain,
a comfort zone to me, was lent
until the noise drove me insane.

A carpenter was this Jesus man
he died on a piece of wood,
irony has always been a part of the plan
that alone, must be understood.

I since have ceased my longing
for things that aren't to be,
fate can just about hand me anything
and it'll have no effect on me.

The chili has been simmering
for two hours now,
the rice cold and no phone call, again.
I’ve fed the cat, dog and
helped our budding baby girl with her homework,
made sure she washed behind her ears,
she’s in the bed, but still no call, just the silence of winter’s
end and its cold running though in jarring shivers,
she’s really pushing this trust thing … but she
does deserve any me-time she can get, just wish
she’d call and confirm it, not leave me here waiting
for … knock knock knock,

The light in many houses is
not a child's toy
(do angels play
with the brightness?)
my body too weary to
carry their strength;
a taste of Eve's apple and
nibbling at the root of the world,
past eyes became arrows
under strangely-familiar music,
language fingered hungry wolves:
a Dutch farm in circular embrace.

I milked sky in children's bones,
inside a tulip's belly; mud was my nickname
dirt-confused anger on grasses too gentle ---
'till pigeons nestle on the hillside.