Ripples riddle the mirror,
Below, faint shapes shift
Elegant forms float here and there,
Little legs thunder, leaving a gentle wake
in lieu of turmoil.

The air is thick, the sun falling,
Already lost behind billowing storm clouds
Etched chaotically on the horizon.
Invisible but for the ubiquitous light.

It is the dragonflies time,
A darting zip and an effortless flutter.
From surfacing **** to towering Reed,
Searching for something we can only pretend to know.

Determined housewives, faces set,
Arms pumping and hips swaying
Their Anatidean waddle so fitting
Their quacks, a wall of stereo.

A lone rusted sign warns of gators,
but of signs, there is that one alone.
No rogue bubbles or beady eyes,
no ticking of swallowed clocks,
no suspicious splashes.
nothing.

My battery is now as low as the sun,
and my pen is as empty.
A not so subtle poke in the ribs
from a universe in protest of the
bad poetry being inked.

c'est la vie
or as we say in English
**** it

The Bougainvillea cares not for the needs of its guests.
It throws its pink shade regardless,
over rock and sand and weary travellers.

She calls.
She waves at me.
Her French manicure frothing
Come she whispers.
Come with me to adventure.
Come with me to danger.  

Eventually I’ll go.
Despite all the corpses littering her depths
I wait for my hair to be pulled in and tied.
My sails to be hoisted and set
And my nose to be pointed
Towards the next port.

Those moments in life
That staccato heart beat
An anxious mind and the release of sleep
The tightness of a chest bound by woe
Picks up the phone one last time

I got lost in a slew of plans.
Let's go here, let's do that.
You can come too, wait you can't.
Ok fine, i'm sure it'll be ok

It wasn't

One syllable,
three measly letters
And lifetimes of happiness.

The greatest smiles are come from it
The happiest tear is shed
It’s utterance can make you JUMP and LEAP and TWIRL and SPIN or...
Or burst hearts sealed in lead.

And lifetimes of happiness
Three measly letters
One syllable.
Yes.

I sat beneath the tree of me
its sheltering boughs spread wide.
Catching the afternoon sunlight on
hoary green leaves.

I sat beneath the tree of me
it's twisted, gnarled trunk stood strong,
Scarred by initials crossed out.
It's gooey sap ebbing and flowing to
the erratic beat of my own heart

I sat beneath the tree of me
thirty two rings, some thick, more lean.
A centre core, a maypole of happiness and
not

I sat beneath the tree of me
cradled by roots dug deep.
wispy wind wiggling my hair
comfort in all of me

I sit beneath my ageing tree
on a blanket far too large.
"You're welcome" I'd say to passersby
to sit with me a while.

A sea of buttery happiness
Is home to the roundest of islets
Side by side they wallow.

Quite naturally, the islands,
Are covered in ham.
Ham? Ham!
And lazily perched
On the hams highest point
Sits an avian sphere
Perfectly poached.

Straining against its
White little straight jacket.
Pop.

I swam the sea
Manmade fish with rubber fins and glass eyes
It wasn’t difficult to breath
Quite the contrary
I witnessed wonders of man & mother
Bejewelled sealife amongst statues of stone
Sunken artistry, seaplanes and Poseidon
A lady of rock, the Ocean Atlas
Holding up the sky from beneath the waves.
The Bahama Mama casting a gentle eye over her domain
Tomorrow maybe more.

Establishing hierarchical roles
Nicaean council for food stuffs
The meal that breaks ones fast
A culinary czar
His Rasputin, not another repast
His downfall not so obvious
A cuisine coup d’état,
Caffeinated beverages.
‘Twas coffee that stormed the breakfast Bastille

My story of us
Of a clock blonde ticking
Counting the sheep until apocalypse
A simple verse would not suffice
Nor would a complexity borne of years.

A deluge of elocution,
Remembrance drowned.
The fickle combination of
Llamas and lambs grazing
In my backyard alongside other
Metaphors.

The llamas wear glasses sometimes

Anguished intellectuals
Locked up in bedrooms
Chained to porches.
Their advice is good
Their words wise and thoughtful
Themselves, ****** up.

Ink stained tomes littering desks.
Nail bitten fingers clinging to pens.
Red veined eyes squinting at parchment
Words given life. But to follow ones own advice?

Rare is the joyous bespectacled llama
Bestowing wisdom onto the sheep
Watching them frolicking on the lawn
Trying to find rhythm in gangly legs
Urgently, awkwardly alone.

It's a little quiet
One day it'll be an all grown up big quiet
But for now, it sneaks around in the brushes
Avoiding predators and spreading anxiety.
The birds hush as it passes,
The wind stops bothering the leaves,
The cats lie flat against the ground
and the dogs bare their teeth at empty spaces.
Then at the behest of some mysterious conductor
The world burst forth into life with renewed vigour,
The little quiet passes and successfully survives the day
Tomorrow It'll be a little bigger until

To get lost on a shelf.
A journey, couch potato tourist,
Book upon book, fantastical and fact
An expergefactor for the literary senses.

A sofa that swallows you whole
with an old fashioned friend,
stirring bourbon thoughts and
swirling orange twists

A wall of books,
novels and tomes.
Hemingway nestled next to Palahniuk.
Generational angst and
Alphabetical Chaos!

THE NIGHT has a thousand eyes,
  And the day but one;
Yet the light of the bright world dies
  With the dying sun.

The mind has a thousand eyes,         
  And the heart but one;
Yet the light of a whole life dies
  When love is done.

They whirl and swirl and dive
But do they?
The no see ‘ems, You can’t see ‘em
but you can feel them there
Cavorting and frolicking, invisible in the air
A dinner time dance, gluttonous splurge
You’ll know all about their evening soirée
When you discover the main course is
… You.

I know you
I burn in the flame from the glint in your eye
I sense the power in an insecure smile
I feel the danger in sarcastic defense

I see you
Desperate search in a forest so dense
Fighting the current, feet bloodied and red
You flex and bow, delicate perch, fragile limb

I taste you
From knees to shoulders In feline repose
A punch in the face from the twist of a nose
My blood hints of freedom, drips off my lips.

I feel you
It’s an electric vibration, synaptic attention
An ambiance, subtle change in light
Conflagration grows while sparrows take flight.

Theres a girl I know
That walks the shore
her hair, stranded gold.
Her eyes are emeralds
drenched in sunlight.
Her nose of noble mould

She's clumsy but she's grace
She doesn't like her heels
She can take her bra off with shirt in place
She gives me magical feels

Her smile is pure adrenaline
Her legs are silken cloth
The junction drives my mind insane
Her, blazing fire. Me, awestruck moth

I thought I'd loved, in my past
In fact, I knew I had
I've cradled my blood soaked heart
In hands of molten sand

But looking at my fruity girl
Drives all that bunk away
She makes me smile and dance and twirl
She makes me happy, Everyday.

Today I'm filled with muted optimism
Something not often seen skulking around my peripheral.
Some retail therapy and a ***** free day.

I write you blinded, literally, consumerism blaring,
shining RED in my eye. My new shoes and sparkly
chemical incentives sitting comfortably on my feet
and in the back of my skull respectively

you know? Just above my nape.

The weekend is over.
That person has left, incised from delicate parts
where hurt feels more justified than starving children and
diseased refugees, "oh so woe is me" avoided.

We shouldn't have gone skiing together, the snow was far from ready.
The passengers leapt from the derailing train, terrified of sludgy wet slopes.

This time around I won't let them come so close. Stiff arm, no more than three. No more poems for you, or freedom for me.

Let’s go, you and I.
And sweat beneath the African sky
Watch the lions lazing
And the wild dogs playing.  
We can sip Amarula
And listen to the hyenas laugh and cry
As the mythical sunset
Silhouettes giraffes and Acacia trees.

Let’s go, you and I
And walk the streets of old town Barcelona.
Find old timey cafe and luxuriate
In sangria and itty bitty tapas
Stroll by Sagrada and gawp
At Gaudi’s home.
Maybe we’ll stop for some ice cream
Maybe we’ll just go back to the hotel

Let’s go, you and I
And swim the blue blue seas of the Bahamas
Nervously Play with the nurse sharks
Hoping they’re not the other sharks
Take those long walks on those beaches
That everyone likes.
We’ll sit on Jankanoo and drink sky juice
Until we can truly reach the heavens

Let’s go, you and I
And ski the Slopes of the Swiss alps
We can stop at small cabins and drink
heartwarming schnapps
Take trains that slink around mountains
And sprint through white capped forests
We can put snow down the backs
Of each others jackets and
Squeal in furious delight.

Let’s go, you and I.
And squish our way through the streets of New York
Relieved when we can pop into a shop
To escape the crowds.
Necks sore from looking up
Small town people in the Big Apple City
Central Park for pretzels and Snapple
Times Square later, neon addiction sated.
And a boat ride to see lady liberty

Let’s go, you and I
And bare our feet in Balinese temples
Speak to the monks in broken English
And then retire to our curtained gazebo
To indulge in the sins they can’t
We’ll get massages and champagne
Then ride our bikes along pothole
Ridden dirt roads.

Let’s go, you and I
And get Nuevo Chic in London’s west end
We can catch a show in tux and evening gown
Then head to the pub and catch a pint
We can walk the trail, hunt Jack the Ripper
And visit The Tower.
Cross the Thames and maybe
No definitely
Another pint in some quaint little place.

Let’s go, you and I
And lie in bed late on lazy Sunday mornings
I’ll poach the eggs and make the hollandaise
You can put some upbeat daytime jazz on
Then we can go sit in the garden
Under the oak tree and read
Each other poetry
Until it’s much much later
...

I met an unfriendly parrot
I can’t blame him really. He lived in a cage
He stood there and squawked
Screaming displeasure at all who passed.
Staring balefully at sunburnt tourists
Asking if polly wants a *******
He doesn’t want a ****** single one.

I did find out what he liked.
Completely by accident.
Turns out he likes songs,
Click songs, because
“The white people cannot say Qongqothwane”

Morning mood was bleak
Spiced with some Jazz, a poached egg and Appreciation.

Noon was carnival!
BBQ on the dock sprinkled with tropical house and a heavy dose of ***.

Night was narcissism
Sinful Bourbon and banana desserts, cigarettes aplenty, blue lights and bad habits

It’s a strange muse, this murderous blue.
So many drawn to her splendor
So many drawn to their death

The blue and white woven thread
Sits comfortably close
tasseled ends exotic
clinging seductively
Falling too easily.
Who needs pants?

This I write to you
From the deepest sea
Where the gentle swell
rolls the boat softly

For it is here I am left
To contemplate my life
And the choices I’ve made
That extol my strife

I made them then
What’s done is done
They’re mine to own
Each and every one.

But I am the product of
These decisions of mine
And I’d do them again
Time after time

And so, this I write to you
From the deepest sea
Where the gentle swell
rolls the boat softly

And all I can say is I’m sorry.
To me.

Spring time morning sun
Warming my back,
I got lost in the pages of hello poetry
A gargoyle perched on a step
Unmoving, hesitantly... statuesque

A northern mockingbird took rest on my foot
A moments respite from beating wing
And gravity defying flight
My poor heart jumped at his sudden touch
And my foot ****** up and away
Those unexpected scratchings
My coffee cup flying

The mockingbird was no better
All grace and glide destroyed
Frantic scrabble of feathered pinions
Escape from this simulacrum come to life.

Now, From his new purchase he examines me
Suspicious eyes, blaming.
An oddity such as me. And I him.

Needless to say, we both barely survived the encounter.

The bird songs ring out harmonious
Their calls for some wanton *******,
The best type.
Reciprocated across the landscape
Which is not the right word
There’s more sea here than land.
an orange hangs low in the lonely sky
Perfectly ripe,
Dripping wet with honeyed shades of gold,
Coating palm trees and my knees.
Also my cigarette box and my coffee mug. A slow swell pitching and yawing,  
a side to side appreciated only by those trying to sleep.
A breeze lazier than I licks my cheeks and fondles my thighs.
It’s time, to go.

As far as I can see, elocution and declamation
Thee this and thou that
Whence and wheresoever
Isthmus and anemone
Vitriolic and Diatribe
Bloviate and aplomb

But feeling has no discrimination.
Rococo words are not needed
Simply put is just as good
Too much icing makes a cake too sweet.

Bon appetit

Tacos, pulled pork and quesadillas
Garish and gaudy being the clarion call
for the food truck battalion
An armoury of captivating aromas
Savoury propaganda mastered.
The war is won.

It was hot before
Then spring came flaring with heat
I need to go swim

I took that train again
The one that doesn’t stop
This time it took me to a land of blondes
A veritable tree.
With many things that a gentleman
Should not write about.
I’d like to think that’s me
Though I’ve proven myself wrong in the past
It’s quite the opposite.
None the less. The train was boarded
And the riders were comfortable,
Smiling and laughing right into the collision.

I’d love to write something clever and witty
To capture the essence of Dr Suess in a ditty
But try as I might, the words don’t take flight
And the whole thing just sounds kind of ******

You killed the child in me.
A brutal ****** it was,
no mercy for his gentle soul.
His wide eyed wonder gone.

He was doused in gasoline,
and swiftly set alight
turned from happy kid,
to raging inferno, lit the night

His ashes did not have time to cool
before a stirring in their midst.
A cynical angry man did rise,
Not a phoenix borne of myth.

For now it hurts, just to smile
there's no mirth in my eye.
My laughter lines are obsolete
Just extensions of my frown.

I bought a perfect pineapple
It screamed of being sweet.
It’s burnt orange blush,
It pale green spiked leaves.
To try and preserve such beauty,
Would bear sour fruit.
To fight for its posterity when it will not fight too.

So I lopped off it’s head
Carefully removed its fruit and
Casually discarded its core
And satisfied my craving
Done before you begin. Safe.

I was sat so still
A bird landed on my foot
Whose fright was bigger?

The baroque grandeur of
Warm seas on velvety spring evenings
Is in stark contrast to the ache
In my hands from the aircon being
Just too ******* cold.

And

Who do these stars think they are?
This heavenly phosphorescence
Placed so precisely on the lapel of
The night sky.
A supernova pocket square?

And

What is the story with this ***?
Wheedling it’s way down my throat
To try and melt the tremors in
The pit of my belly.
It’s ****** well working.

Its been a while since we sat and talked,
My friends of faceless fame.
Its been a while since I lost my friend,
My treasured brat, little one.
I found a path that killed the pain,
A path not walked for reasons.
I spent two weeks on its twisted curves,
And a fortune in green backed dollars.
The world sparkled for a while,
Crystalline lights and marble castles.
But now its over and my process done,
Back onto gravel work strewn passes.
Lets not wait so long my friend,
To talk of loved ones lost to life.
Lets spend more time with each others words,
Where we can cry and laugh and love.

An empire, built on Extreme empathy.
Welcomes in the parasite of its own demise
Feeds the anarchy with the cornerstones of its ethics.
Tears down it’s moral walls so as not to offend it’s destruction
Lies with blank smiling eyes, eviscerated in the street.
Good thing, good thing we were so woke.

There’s a place we should not go
Where white snow falls and foxes dive in, head first.
The trains that go there do not stop.
Their brakes are cracked useless things.
Their fuel is limitless. The lever is set to full speed.
It’s not an easy train to disembark from.
Not for want or for not wanting.
I’m of the latter currently. Though I knew boarding this train would send me there. I got on anyways.
Now I’ll just enjoy the ride. Have a little ski, perhaps even become a fox.

The warmth fills you up
The burn scrapes your throat
You’d like to hiccough
And your brain is afloat

The Bourbon is hot
The ice is not
The ginger is sweet
But my heart prefers it neat.

Sitting, baking, smoking, faking
Smiles, glances, eyebrows, advances
Cigarettes, ****, flying, skied
Leaving, time, behind, I'm
Sweat, sweet, dalliance, discreet
Screamed, moaned, words, intoned

Sleep

Three.
   “It’s too high” I wailed.
   “Jump” she said from the crystal pool.
   “I can’t I’m scared.”
   “I’m here” she cooed “I’ll catch you.”
I did and she did.  

Seven
   “I don’t want to” I kicked
   “Go” she said from the cars window.
   “No, it’s lame”
   “I’ll be here when you’re finished”
I went and she was

Sixteen
   “I can’t” I frustrated
   “ It’s easy” she said from over my shoulder
   “No, it’s stupid”
   “I’ll help, let me show you”
I tried and she taught

Twenty One
   “I want to” I planned
   “You can” she said from inside the phone
   “But, it’s so far”
   “I’m a call away, I’m proud of you”
I went and she was.

Twenty Five
   “I’m scared” she said
   “It will be fine” I reassured from the hospital chair
   “But it isn’t good”
   “Im here for you, the meds will work”
She believed and they didn’t

Twenty Seven
   “It’s over” she whispered
   “I know” I sobbed from the foot of the bed
   “It’s my time to leave”
   “It’s been a rough two years, you can rest now”
She did and I crumbled

Thirty Two
   “I’m hurting” I thought
   “....”
   “I have to be strong”
   “....”
So I try because she watches