driven me to think

driven me to think

because only poets see 

that life is a dead end

that our world is dying

only we see that

they do not want to know 

that everything dying

under the wheels

stuck steering

wheels

and so we rail 

to no avail

it is indeed 

as hard as the nail

we hammer on 

an on

cataclysm when you were away

cataclysm when you were away

smoothing the cat’s nape

in the way i caress your mons

and she looks for more

and purrs and purrs

as my index finger

and little finger

behind her ears

contour your thighs

and i tickle the majora

of her cheek

and then that spot

at the end

of her minora chin

and she grins her eyes

closed

and my eyes

my eyes flash

open

  the bugger

she bit me again

  the pain

the bloody periodicity of pain

when you are so far away
again

looking forward

looking forward

upon a reluctant ochre dawn,

pushed on the east of a wind,

and out of the depths of a wild sea,

here in the midst of winter, the spring

is frogspawn resurgent, in

shining, flaring eyes, pupil wide,

and long upon the walking ways,

of them there daisy daisy days.

the cat from dawn to dusk

the cat from dawn to dusk

the dawn goes patting the cat to sleep,

ears alert to the music of the night;

as the last breezed leaf of fall falls,

upon a big breath sinks her head,

to dream-twitch of mice and fright;

until dusk creeps slowly out of bed,

and the slinks of night return

her calls with calls.

love at first sight on that first night in 1969

love at first sight on that first night in 1969

for every lock, a key,

for every key, a lock;

so why was it such a shock,

to find that me and you, and you and me

fitted in that first instance - in that first instance!

way back when I knew there was no way back,

when the you in me in you in me, closed the crack

in the reason for the insistence of our existence.

that first instance, that very first instance!

when i held you in my arms,

and the world and all its harms

were locked out by our eyes.

here, after years of insistence, 

why am i still surprised

that today i am in love with you more,

far more than surprise will inveigh,

or that these words could ever convey. 

tapping the well of words

tapping the well of words

i have an oil well nodding-donkey

sitting in my head 

every time it nods and raises

another poem’s bled

from the seam of golden poets

deep down by my toes

up and down up and down

pumping poems and blank prose

i hope my jargon footprint

will tread lightly where it goes

global and heartwarming 

who knows who knows who knows

Regale

Regale

The gale has finally blown passed at last;

though the morning star appears unmoved.

The doors flew bang and flew bang fast,

and saw the last vestiges of sleep removed.

Upon the sea the tall ship’s metronome mast

is spooning to the dawn drawn down betrothed;

so rest now my gentle one, for it has passed,

and all is quiet again in the vale of dreams;

for nothing e’er be bad as seems;

see now the pastures are verdant grassed;

and see how the wind in their tresses eases,

as you drift away on the breath of breezes;

and i will regale of the times of times

where the morning star was once removed 

by the rhyme of rhymes and by these rhymes

was the gale fast felled and fallen fast to sleep.