draught

 draught

empty flask

filled with want

it poured out expectation 

i drank disappointment

a word moist with tears

formed of frustration

i filled the flask

at the thesaurus 

oh my word

what a refreshing drink

an oasis

i thought

time’s unforgiving metamorphosis

time’s unforgiving metamorphosis 

vestal divested

of her pedestal 

looks backwards

to the time when her marble shone

and now 

how the alabaster 

resembles a fairground figurine

with peeling pastels

won with the coin of hope

the memory of razzmatazz 

dimming and dimming

come on

(she cries)

whistle our tune

throw my switch

let the rollercoaster begin

make me scream again

and again for more 

let again’s forlorn smile

belly-laugh me 

from far away in india

 from far away in india 

he tells of things

of river things and tales

on winds afar

stirring the grasses of my heart

here where i sit where we are

i tell the critters that surround me 

of their brothers and their sisters

how well they are doing are

singing upon the breeze

for listen 

he is speaking

his smile of miles is turning leaves

and planting seeds

of the flowers that will smile 

just here where we are

gotcha ~ a reflection

 gotcha ~ a reflection

gotcha! gotcha!

God is the omnipresent louse 

so pick at what you will 

you will still have no will 

for God is everything 

even you 

because he made himself 

and then he made you in his own image 

as a laterally inverted transgendered likeness 

or likeness not 

there it is 

it’s a fact 

you has been got

ye gads

God has only gone and gotten himself 

to blame

here’s a prompt reply

 here’s a prompt reply 

you offer me a prompt 

when 

to a poet 

the whole world is a prompt

forever is an instant 

#hashtag 

isn’t that the mutton cloth

that an engineer uses

to clean the oil from hands

that have been beneath

the engine of life

resuscitation is in reverse

now there’s a prompt for you

a-systole is a long line

in stanza of lines

queuing to form a circle

to watch the children skip over it

kids ~ well they asked you

 kids ~ well they asked you

kids!

we lined up the snails

and waited for a bus

to squash death

onto a steep learning curve 

as we hung upside down

from the railings of don’t you dare

what we talked about 

was turning life on its head 

but we didn’t understand 

why blood seeping

through grassed knees

was memory’s long smile

the essence of this blog is …

 fishing line

floating the moon’s ripples

waiting for a bite