By his side, the devout chant God's glory
in a life so brittle and fragile
yet not lacking in strength to navigate
on the river of chaotic turbulence.

Some are tearlessly silent,
a few are about to embrace a cry
and there is one whose wails
reverberate and pound the walls.

The ascent to the greater kingdom
is adorned with white lotus
and incense that smell of heaven.

Filled with the finality
there is no point denying,
the atheist sleeps on peacefully.

Where, in this fragile mote of time, lies the kernel of a smile?

Where, the beauty of sensation.... of lying down, before the warmth of a roaring woodfire in the dark of night...beside the woman you love...to delight in the stroking of the smoothness of her thigh?

Where, that crystal moment of clarity from whence the words emerge to coin and write that precise and perfect phrase?

Where, oh where.... the moment when anxiety flees the mind to release the elixer of peace and personal satisfaction?

Where, that essence of tranquility?

Where, oh where?
In the irridescence of the Realm of Love.

M@Foxglove.Taranaki.NZ

UP IN THE SKY( for W. W. )

Daddy was a pilotman
went to work in the sky
where bombs came from

he went  to bash the bad men
who mashed all the houses up
made big holes in the road

he told me not to be
frightened but I was and
so was teddy

I didn't like the war
it was too noisy and
kept on too long

the world shook
like an invisible giant
stomping on the ground

Mummy always said
never mind
it will be over soon

but it never was
I prayed it was
God wasn't listening

the black out
ate all the light]
teddy kept his eyes shut tight

next door went away
one morning it was
just not there

a milk bottle
stood on a doorstep
that has no house

Daddy went to work
high above the clouds
one day he never came back

Daddy had to stay
up in the sky
Mummy said he lost his way

I still think of him
living up in the sky dead
not able to come home

being dead means
you can't see someone
and they can't see you

the sky was too high
the ground was too low
so he is always up in the air

I was five
when the bombs fell
breaking the world

now I am 65
but the war still lives
on inside my head

I am older than
my daddy
could ever be

I still don't cry because
Daddy said I mustn't
I tell myself I mustn't

teddy doesn't cry because
he lost both his eyes
so he couldn't

that world now
only lives in photographs
Daddy always smiling

It’s my memory
so I guess no one would understand
what that gesture
meant
to me.

All those years ago.
1975?
The prairies.
Grandpa and Grandma’s house
We congregated
Kids left to their own devices but sometimes
Grandpa would walk us to the park and sit with us in the knee-high grass.
We’d talk and play and he would say-go pick  those yellow flowers
I will pick them too
and bring them back to  me.

I did. I was so intrigued. The rest ran off to play

I dutifully brought my bounty back to him.
He took those dandelions
And braided them into a crown
and put them gently on my head and said, you are a princess now.

He said I could be a princess
For just a moment
With a smile and a lot of love he made me a princess for just a
Moment
In time.

And for that, Grandpa,
I’ll always be grateful.

I miss you

Some poems don't
work.
No amount of
tweaking will
fix it.
You can't finger it until
it comes.

Push the delete
button and
start over.
You write because
you have to.
It's in your cells.

You're a salmon,
swimming up
stream to stay
alive.
You write because
the nuthouse yawns,
and beckons.
It waits.

The cage door is
open, and the
water is
tainted with
mercury.
Fly away, or die.

If the writing
isn't working,
go fishing,
eat a tangerine or
some brussel sprouts.
Be livid
Be silly.
Study the *****
and the orchid.

Think about what the
color black tastes like, or if
pink whispers or yells.
And write until
the trivialities take
flight from your
life.
In the surrendering,
triumph will come.