Seven seas

I dance to the windswept scent
of the flower bed that’s blooming

and walk to the sundrenched colour
of the bottle-brush in Spring.

I run to the overarching weakness
of the sunshine fading

and lie next to the smell of baby milk
that is the stunning bosom, bearing.

I sleep to the suppressed reality
of the sub-conscious, unaware

and wake to the noisy miner bird
singing joyful tunes at sunrise.

I live to see the wonder
of your gleaming eyes at morn’

greeting my mortality
like a feather flying
through the thinnest air with ease –

ending in the unknown
after sailing seven seas.

The Artist

If no man fall asunder

then let no man stand apart

the one who only had a fleeting glimpse

enjoys the subtle art

 

The paint and brush and easel stand

before the man who’s thinking

the finished piece, like artist’s hand

shakes before its sinking

 

Art – thy name is woman –

‘fifty shades of grey’

the passion of a suitor lost

should not be lost this way

 

Like a rope entangled

a life lived is like an hour

like the wild garden blooming

the plant – budding – brings a flower

 

Is it black and white – definitive

or is it made of colour

does exploration start at home

or stranger’s cottage, over yonder

 

Within the cottage stands a piece –

art no man had savoured

not ‘til artist, on his deathbed

was thy work in favour

 

When people come

they will not leave

like leaves on the ground

in Autumn

 

Oh, if only he

was here to see

the boat anchored

in his harbour

 

‘If only’ –

two words strong enough

to bring a storm

of force

 

Need not be lost

in frigid frost

stand up –

and hold the course.

More than myself

Can I create more than myself
And if I can, must I?
Is livelihood (like solitude)
About to pass me by?

At times we associate
With a view  – a sight to see
A sense of fatal curfew –
Of our own mortality

Can I build a house to share –
Must I share it once it’s built?
As accidental as a romance
That is driving by me still

Still as can be, in situ –
What situation is
Movement denies my sense of self –
Of soft and supple bliss

Where did she go –
Where is she now?
Is one’s life a curse
To spend it without paying forward –
Could anything be worse

For time will never stay at rest –
It waits for no man – sure, not I
Hasten, hustle, hurry –
Catch up!
Before I die.

But a second

Absence of a tryst to love

Does not abandon thee

From amorous encounters

In a world of make-believe

 

Absence of a single thought

Wants not a lesser being

Yet, in time one cannot become

What one cannot see

 

For sight to some means knowledge

Powered by the mind

If one be blind, does it decry

To be of lesser kind?

 

Yet absence of a sense to some

Means stronger touch and taste

A life lived but a second

Is the kind one ought not waste.

Milk and butter

The evening storm
The morning sun
The shining Summer – burning

Fire red
As ice is blue
The cold wind isn’t learning

That flowers bloom
From buds of Spring
Like Autumn leaves of colour

With startling sense –
Emulsified –
Like blending
full cream milk
With melting butter.

What dreams may come
What loss I live
Tumultuous the calling

As twilight descends
In darkened sky
My memories are falling.

Seasons derive an afterglow –
From demonstrative a movement
No need to shout – the whisper’s out
The cream of seasons isn’t Winter.

The darling buds
Know brighter times
When re-growth derives the season

As we run hard
To see tomorrow’s yard –
The day for true believing.

Love more than life

Love more than life
Tears over rain
Laughter stronger than stress  –
the weaker strain

Smile brighter
Than eye’s refrain
Arms outstretched
To face the sun

Heart so sore –
Creates a shroud
What can I do –
Who can I hold –
Where can I stand
To void the cloud

When I see the tears that fall
I think I know her not at all
Yet when I feel her touch my hand
I feel us walking on the sand

A new brand – or old one re-jigged
Arm ‘round shoulder as we stand
See laughter, tears and smiles through

You are my boat –
And I your crew.