Of Note

Above the wind A chord Caressed A bow on string? More like A woman’s song Lifted Strung on the air

calling

We watch beauty in leaves falling Carpets colour in time With grace we farewell our loved one Trusting they are now thine Calling to you calling home When we answer you are listening all the time we run by Seeking solace and some comfort Then your arms open wide Calling to you calling truth Rising …

Waking Wanting Words

When the mind as in the moon takes waning phases The melodies and tunes stay undefined Edging  closer to its  pages The book stays closed tethered leaves on branches intertwined Then Spring will rush the head and bud the blossom Deep within the soul the spirit calls Lending colour to the brightening day time Breathing …

Night Moves

I am sitting on a one way bus to nowhere open- topped in desert screams are heard or lost in rushing moments No one listens, eardrums bleed. Jumped on in night with hopes of homeward recognized no one it seems Lost in plight I wake this morning mystified by my night's dream Actors on a …

Ticking

If time measured love Instead of hours hearts would not cease Sun would set embraces Moon would light belief The clock could not tick it's seconds Childs' play not end or chase old couple's smiling presence Young lovers full intense The garden grows unfettered by chiming of a knell each tree and mountain climbing the …

longview

I get a long-distance call from a girl who says she knows me. * Years on, I’m in a room that, in the abstract, is familiar with its combination of walls & furniture. * It’s late summer & the sun’s low yellowing the moth-worn laces. * The voice I know somewhere & a face starts …

from Workers Of The Hours

5. I have brokered time out of a rut to forage for poem in the half caste, half-pulled down places, where the yellow and dark, the golden sheen, of some, their faces, lean, or fed the red meat white men grow empire on: extreme rut of a dream, rut of emotion expressed, rut of a …

burning on

burning on the sky was grey and low the smoke was of the sky the flames of the garden fire burning were richly of the earth the woman was tidying up the garden gathering up gloved armfuls of dry branch the cat was helping in a silly way balancing along the rim of the tipped-over …

Mother’s Grief

Mother bird is back. She has dinner, Served live in a red beak She bobs, little eyes darting. But baby bird is not there. This happened yesterday, When she stood in the rain. It will happen again tonight. How can I tell her, the effort is for nought; That I found him and I carried …

name

name to Frank Le Baige how many of us have scratched such names. i go down to the beach and have a look at the foot of the sandstone cliff where it arches over a hollow hollower then, a spot i’ve known since childhood, for that my brother’s name he dug out deeply, i thought …