Radiohead paints a diamond
Lodging in my throat
Harmonies of loss
A lattice in my ears
And I'm reminded of...

Harmony's twin
She smiles like the stars
Distant, cool beautiful
Fingers coaxing sweetness
From ivories carried beyond their limits
Waterfalls of laughter
Welling from memory
So far, so long
Only,
Good byes are for friends

I'm sorry, we're all stocked up on crazy here. Why don't you try another house down the street?


The man bent the spoon with the power of his hands.

And she smiles for me.
A punch-drunk symphony
Two worlds colliding
In thunder and lightning
And me holding a candle up
To see the stars.

By the time I got to doing
It was half-past way too late
If I had a dime, for every time
I was last one through the gate
I'd need to go to the bank and exchange it for New Zealand currency.

Hah.

I am Freestyling.

Softlyspoken have a token
Of humility under that shirt
I ply wood and take tank tops
Till worth is multiplied with worth.

Punch a hole in the earth,
Brickabrack. The tittilations of
A roundhouse kick, past insanity
I was awake before they woke me up

Salvation runs in tides
Besides which I'm not more than half
At any given time
There are more thoughts in my brain
Than my head can hold.

One year on. The same man
In similar clothes, if a bit warn
Like his face, his smile
Crinkles round tired eyes
As though more thoughts crowd behind
Than there used to be.
Laughter? Not so many
Not so much drained as conserved
Left in glass jars for a rainy day
Or an eartquake to shatter tranquil medium.

One minute on. Glancing at a watch
Black matte plastic and scratched window
Ticking away the countdown of life
Solid, reliable; the man he wanted to be
There's more money jingling in pockets
And more cares jumbled in his head
But he's the same man. Similar at least.

Trace amounts of exported emotions
Noone holds the line like you do
I fill in the empty sentances
Which convey all the meaning I never felt.
You stay just the same

I awoke from the dream
But the dream was me

Home, home
Is hanging out alone.
Handing out tickets
To the one man show.
Man, you should have seen it
I was in my element
Counting the seconds
In each creeping minute.

Cradles the phone like a baby
While conversation languishes on the floor
Silence beckons unpleasant thoughts
That drive him swiftly through the door.

To the far side of ordinary

She cups her hands
Under the strong man's finger
It's not the dying that hurts.
She smiles like a desert sunrise
Beautiful and scorching
Truth spells nothing more
Dizziness and suckerpunched
Truth echoes in silence
Stringing lines of ordinary
He passes the border
Into the unknown
Where the grass is greener

She told her mind that nobody knew
A cat hidden in a box for footsteps to pass

Unfolding blossom, creased beauty.
The callused palm of a working man
Held out.

The Smoking Man - Typings of the Mind


A salamander owns nothing
But the paper on his back

I was paused between breaths
Between the weight of paper on the page
Slid the sunrise to the sky
Sloping trees gild heavens
With heaviness of shadow.

I am forceps holding back the night
Peeling taste from food
She tastes foolishness and spits it out.
Yet I know nothing but silence
Screaming i my ears
We turned pages but the words fled from us.

I was reading some stuff I wrote 5 (shocking) years ago. And it seems better than my stuff these days. This makes me sad.

A half-opened pack of toothbrushes
Held close for a rainy day
While SpongeBob smiles inanely
To drive such thoughts away
Rickety books piled high
Knowledge reaching for the sky
I'll never read them but
They hold promises of wisdom
Shirts slumber on the bed
Discards of the morning
Discriminated, disused
But still holding to a form of
Beauty, clean lines, smart curves
A pod of dolphins breaking the confines
Of a sun drenched sea
And I am on a leather chair undecided
Big enough to hide a child in
A man staring at the future
And refusing to blink.

Layers upon layers like a chocolate cake
Sunlight filtered down like a fine coffee
You can taste the freshness if you dare
And brown yourself like a grizzly bear.
Toothpaste and mouthwash
Waves lick the sandy shore
And are remembered no more.

One day I'll wake up a trumpet
I'll play you a song
To may the daylight long
For the onrolling night

Madam the rock touches
Graces our fair city
Fairer by far, a searching
Eye. Nestled in clouds
Hungering of seas
Salience. As earth
Prosteletises the waves.

I ask myself " Who is this?
Who makes the flowers fair
Seem so drab I when compare.
Should I lace them through her hair,
Or would they just by hanging there
Seem to wilt, seem to tear
Beneath the blazing beauty?

Today was the first day in ages (3 weeks plus) where poetry has spontaneously popped into my head while doing something. It was starting to get lonely with just these thoughts in my head. I wrote it down somewhere I think...

The journey of a thousand miles

A single step
Such a simple thing
One foot forwards
One foot back
Shifting the earth
To make room for you

Susurrus, a crunching
The ground lapped up
Like cereal from a bowl
As tanned leather buttressed
In smooth polymer curves
Grips the protesting surface
And pulls reality.

Swish. Tarzan through the trees
Brachiation from gravel to gravel
The gentle swing, a pendulum
Metronome counting the beats
Music of movement
Driven home with the earthy percussion
Of landing.

The journey of a thousand miles
Is but a single step
Ad infinitum.

Free Rice

Searching for forgotten words
Some of which I've never heard
It seems that all I really knew
Was a smattering of the language

We sat, stoic cats, with our hands spread like mats on the carpet
You turned your head, and you said "I's so sad we're alone"
I was dumb, you're the one, like a tonne, a light shone down from heaven
But you turned, and I learned, that it burned like an earth-bound space stone.

When you are feeling too afraid to do something, remember this:

Only people from the Mediterranean can be Italicised
But anyone can be bold.

It struck me tonight

The essential irony

A shiny new trash can.

You could touch the sky
If you'd stop staring at the fairy dust
And start learning to fly.

Hold the candle flame
In a quavering palm
Straining to hold back the night
Like Samson
In a room full of pillars.

They say absence
A plum nestled in the grass
Staring at grandeur
A tree ruffled by the wind
Susurrus of cool acquaintance
Flaneur. A relationship
Going out with the tide.

Show me how it ends
That it's alright
Tell me how I've wandered
Into the night
I need to survive
Though the day is too bright
Thoughts for foothills.

Onwards and upwards
Behind the stage
I was holding the ladder
When the world fell away
Through the great tumble-drier
I'm parched as the days
Have you any water?

Thoughts for foothills
Eyes like knives
I bow to your will
In all things.

I saw the giraffes
They was buzzing
Down the downtown
Number sixteen
They don't got no thumbs
But they sure is cool

Why don't you disagree
You never talk to me
At least to say something
That's been bugging you.

The Uprising of the Radish

The black and white of love
Bedazzles
The many hued complexities
Of the human heart.

If poetry is any writing
And music is any sound,
If pictures are any colour,
Unchecked expressions
Of human thought

Then where is art?

Why do you sit there as the morn breaks?
She is the midwife of the oceans
Whose bones are old and broken
Where the small children play
It was peace lillies at christmas
A type of forgiveness
Standing down by the river side
Footprints in the sand.

Just because it is Green, that doesn't make it fresh.

How the children must sing of this day
Supping buttermilk in an innocent way
Dalliance whittles the gentle morning away
In dreams of custard fairies, I'm none too sure
Whether the weather will change.

Musings Volume 1
Though seeds of destruction
Should flower and bloom
I gaze through the window
And stare at the moon
We are two creatures, you and I
Neither children of the night
But lulled by its fluid charms
Into the arms of an angel.

There's a certain sad anonymity
In being average decidedly
None are so plain as you
None are the same as you
Normal being far from the norm.

I woke up this morning
To a day no different from any before
In that it was completely different
From every one prior.
Somehow the 'average day'
Feels like nothing so much
As being sawn in half.

In a team of giants no one is tall.

The children in the dark
Hiding behind their hands
We were flames and we were floods
But they fought tooth and nail
Innocence never understands
If you war against yourself
You either draw or lose.

Smile says the spider

Even in the dark you know you are
A friend
Even in the dark you know you are
Truth could grow on trees
Like you've grown on me

You join the dots

There were Arabs
Oiling the desert
Like clumps of dandruff
Against the pail
Till smoke cleared like tolling bells
Piercing the villages
To a man

English towns with ivy crowns
And redbrickwork
Wending lanes
Atherosclerosis
It's a wonder anybody moves
Horns coagulating softly
Beneath the muffled thump
Of a helicopter pushing the earth away

I don't put many feet right
One in front of the other
But more to the side like
A drunk negotiating a hallway
I could stand aside
Or knock you down
(You wear that frown
So beautifully)
Or maybe both
I feel it my duty
Four on the floor at all times.

Lightning claps I take a bow
Press my forehead to the floor
Only more to the side like
A man crushed by the world.

It seems I'm not the supergreatawesome teacher I wanna be.

Strange how that goes.

Life is rollerskates and fudge.

I jhust love watching Wellington harbour

At night

When it's raining

From the comfort of the living room.

It's flippin magic.

The Autobahn

The future is cash in advance
We are living in the trees
Washing windows with our eyes
While tired turbos groan by
Bulging brimful of richer-than-thou
Like a spoon fed infant
In a cutler's house

They slice through the green
A mercapto river of luxury
Laughter like pinching a pinned foe
Toenails dug in, dancing
Dancing, dancing
Or was it juggling tomorrow
In hands made slick with guilt.

We dribble our thoughts
Through the thick soupy traffic
Electronic waves invisible
Speeding like doves from a gun
Firing into the air
Is it celebration? Freedom?
Hah.
Nought but the sound of a thousand feet
Falling against the cracks
And slipping through.

I was digging in my garden
And I found them
Seeking peace and solace
In the cool embrace of uncaring earth
They wriggled from the harsh glare
Soft, pink skin writhing in an agony
Not truly felt by me, but
Hiding their faces in their hands
They shed no tears
Determined their serpentine way
And departed.

These shattered hearts
And battered minds
We set apart
And set upon
We danced before
The dying sun
We laughed as though
We'd just begun
To start to start
And play the part
Plying apart
The shuttered blinds
And shattered minds
Oh how all the shadows leer
Oh aren't we all standing near

Floret
flourish
final hour
pouring
roaring
taste the
flour
ground down
count down
go down
fighting
hugging
bugging
telephoning
sing to
silent
ears.

She was the daughter of a painter

Jess on a canvas

Down the lane

Beneath the sparrows

Haunting windows

And the pockmarked underbellies

Of so much neglected spouting

Life was a canvas

Of opportunities gone

As though at birth a perfect picture

Crisp and glowing

Add life, like turps

Tear drops of colour

Washed into the pavement

By relentless grey rain

She was the daughter of a painter

But she strayed into photography

Black, white, greyscale.

“It tells it like it is” She says.

Though the party hats have gone
And the candles' burned away, and
Birthday cake ashes on second-best plates
Laughter subside to next door
Where it's pin the smile on the faces

She could stare down the memories
Things will be different next time
Better... brighter...!
But the brightest candles burn the fastest.

Inching up the mountain
Tumbling down again
The same old toe hold

The tree by the wishing well
Hunkers like an old man
Fishing corroded coins
With great gnarled fingers
Some days he shivers
Through the not-so-gentle balding
As autumn plucks his hair
And I wish to
Wrap him in a blanket
And his hands round a mug of tea.

Went to a poetry readings at Te Papa today.

Some really nice stuff.

One line in particular caught me

"Time is turtles all the way down"

With a Scarf about my Neck.

The wall was a whale and it told Me the truth.
Shot me up on a spout of gold, up and over the roof.
I was rumble-tumble flying for a second at least
But I bricked up my cave-in, I'm safe incomplete.
True reflections slide and shimmer
They don't look away when the lights grow dimmer
I held out my hand to a multitude
"Hey Jude, don't make it bad"
It takes a strong man to make it better.

The tunnel was an ending, in a fishnetlike way
I slipped through where the gutter cracks the paved
Staircase to heaven, piled of whatif's and maybe's
Slung back to style retro-newness of bell-bottom jeans
Here the turtles don't dawdle and the suns spin out loud
DJ, revolver, and strung out crowd
We would have laughed through the tears the skies bled
Blankness came over me, white-smoking lead
Split-second to departure, stretched figures
Yawning richness of disaster
I held time in my butter-cream hands
Like the pill that I couldn't swallow.

Truth butters the ears of the wise

I once watched a man fall to the drink
He was noble and proud and crumbling underneath
Like a New York city sunset
I once saw a woman step over the brink
Her baby was crying, nothing to drink
She was grim and determined
All plasticine and granite
Molded into a tomb to protect
Her child in ragged arms she feared more than death.

I once sat in a movie where the protagonist won
Tumbling through the rabbit hole. Saved by the gun
When smoke finally rinsed away, he stared into those eyes
Black pools afloat in the milk of surprise
It was himself that died.
I once threw some garbage in the can and it missed
Rolled into a fortress of yesterday's leavings
I hope the trashman comes soon

Dear self: You got lazy. You got rusty.
Time to step up to the plate
Where is your mother?
On the other taxi. It's parked right outside.
If only wooden spoons were crafted of earth.
Overtop puddings, kahlua and vodka
The three a's in alcohol,
With the "Aaaahh" to wash it down
You've cooked up a spiral
Staircase to oblivion
Put the brakes on reality
This is where I get out.

Save the Whales

A man lounges at a white screen
All the while bytes of data trickle and pool
Beneath the whirring lights of his desktop
Promising everything and nothing
Fingers lunching on the keys
Crunch, crunch, crunch
He punches out his mind
The artificial wooden desk
Bears silent testimony
Cradling electronic beast in one hand
An orphaned ball-point huddles in the corner

Acid-washed expression.
Every man is Adam.
In charge of the sub-committee
On reasons for existence
Thank you very much.

Secular humanist theology is the modern dancing bear. It has been detoothed and declawed, muzzled, and chained. Now it dances before you for your amusement, and if it isn't your cup of tea, you can always keep walking, no biggie. Sure it's very safe, but it's also lost its power. The very thing that made it any use had inevitable danger associated with it. People put up a huge cry against cruelty to animals, but what about cruelty to theology?
Save Now

Tests

Finding one's brain quite unnecessarily put to the ploughshare.

Or

A furrowed brow leads to a furrowed mind.

Or

Filling out a piece of paper littered with arbitrary words is the truest test of knowledge.

One

Alone in a crowd
Clasping hands with a stranger
Completing the circuit.

It occurs to me that there are two ways of looking at the precarious way life is balanced in this tiny world of ours. Either the chances of things being 'just-so' are so slim as to border on the miraculous (indeed, many would say sashaying wholesomely past that point entirely), or life could only have existed with the situation as we find it, hence it's more-or-less an inevitability (bearing in mind that in order to observe the observable there must be an observer on hand in the first place).

Both seem to me to be equally logically valid, and equally indisputable using the evidence we have at hand. Yet the conclusions drawn are nearly polar opposites. Or quite similar depending on how you view it. I suppose you could say, on the one hand God had to have been involved because of the obscene remoteness of the probabilities of our current sufficiencies. But on the other hand, the universe had to have an observer there so that it could exist in the first place. If a tree falls in the forest and nobody hears it does it make a sound?

Swing and a Miss

Sun fell upon tired, cracked
Pavement, and catapulting back
The air shivered, slap, slap, slap
Echoes of footsteps behind him.
Two birds whispered mournful
Crying out to the dawn for-
ever beyond avian recollection.
A youth's arm quavering
With the grievous load of these
Short years. He calls out to her,
To the dawn interminably beyond
Overtaxed pavement.
He follows his shadow home.

The Lesson.

Is it boring to tell me what you learned
Hunkered over those desks
Like a retirement home at meal times
Surely this food you've consumed
My very blood and ashes
Have washed some of the clinging ignorance
From your youthful minds.
But just on the off chance of
My lack of success
Test next period.

I'd rather not be crass

But I cannot quite control
My effervescence
By which I mean
My conscience
Which is of course
My curiosity.

Sunshine

Loneliness
You looked so sad in that pretty pink dress
Were you afraid of the smiles you made
Just shallow reflections off you.
But, look outside, the sun it's bursting through.

It's a damn cold day
But you looked so alive when you came round to say
That the folks down the line were doing just fine
Eyes luminescent as moons
And look outside, the sun it's bursting through.

Far away
The world is so distant when you've gone to stay
Somewhere else, somewhere nice
A place that is worthy of you
There the sun is bursting through.

She knows what it's like to drink
The sunset, Yet I think
I'll never find the balls to ask
Just exactly what it's like.

In the slowly sinking sand
And the sucking of the waves
I found myself foot-deep
In a soul-reviving sleep
Like a swim in golden syrup
Or a bathe in warm sunlight
Melting the aches of the night.

In my spare time
I construct worlds
Then cruelly destroy them.

Into their mouths
Dripped trepidation
The persperation
Of the fear filled south.

Simplicity

Vertigo on the wheel
Spinning dice
Weighing futures
I hear rattling in my head
The footsteps of fatality
And I am calm

The Trek.

Into the falling snow
Did the wild men go
Their spirits welded
To the metal picks they wielded
Through the frozen domains
And faeri lit expanse
They etched their stubborn way
Through the heart of winter

Till their harness jingling
And their rasped pluming
Was gently subsumed
By the falling snow.

Wheels and Spokes.

Just like my brother, looks likes I need a new bike. Only mine fell apart instead of gotten stolened. Twill be nice spending my 45 minutes to and 20 minutes from uni in a bit more comfort.

The signpost spoke of things
Wheels within wheels
"Have you got your gears?"
I had my foot on the pedal
But I was lost on the brakes.

I think it's time I jotted down some of my camp compositions. Praps sometime soon. For now, here is a little something I've had in the works off and on for a month or two. (Also available in handy Word(TM) format)


7 Ways to Botch a Wooing:
A How-to Guide.

You will probably have seen recently, possibly over the past week, an individual or individuals seeking the affection of another individual (or individuals, generally of the opposite sex) with intent to romance. This activity or set of activities is more colloquially known as wooing. Wooing is the part-and-parcel of existence for a large portion of society. This primal activity, dating back to the earliest amorous intents of the first humans is part of our very nature. As such an important activity, a whole raft of different strategies have been developed and honed over the course of time, some successful, some less so. I myself have dabbled in this superior activity from time to time.

I am not by any stretch of the imagination a professional wooer. By no means! In fact, a list of my success stories could be totaled on one hand, if you were counting hands. I have had, however, vast experience in failure, both personally and by external observation.

I would like to share a bit of my garnered wisdom with you now. The following are seven well crafted stratagems I have employed or seen employed in the pursuit of the amorous affiliate of the heart. These can be utilised singly, but for most comprehensive results, a combination stratagem is advised. Note that many of these relate to parties and other social events, but they can all easily be tailored to many diverse situations. The viewpoint is decidedly masculine in vantage, not with any slight towards the feminine wooer intended, but more to do with the lack of genderal flexibilities of my experience.

1) Leech

The ‘Leech’, as the name implies involves attaching yourself to a victim with a grimly focused tenacity. The idea here is that if you stay really close to the target for long enough, they will become accustomed to your presence and perhaps even enjoy your company. The leech follows the target of attraction everywhere, standing and sitting in as close proximity as possible. If she goes to get another drink, finish your own quickly and follow suite. When she goes to the bathroom, find some excuse to be hanging just outside waiting for when she emerges. If she wanders off to converse with a different group of friends, it is high time you caught up with them too. It’s all about being there for her, literally. If she’s dropping hints about needing some space, don’t worry, she’s just playing hard-to-get and it’s time to step it up a notch. Incessantly calling her home and/or texting her is another great weapon in the leech’s arsenal, and should be used wherever possible.

2) Mirror

Imitation is the highest form of flattery. This technique is brilliant in its simplicity. If she laughs you laugh, if she dislikes something you also harbour negative sentiments about it. In every way express identical opinions on each and every subject that should happen to crop up. The true master 'Mirror' will even indulge in a little opinion-competition with the target. If she mildly dislikes the taste of Scrumpy Apple Cider (TM), you have despised and detested it since you first emerged from the womb. Let her know, that in everything and every way, you both think exactly alike. No, in fact, you think more like her than she does herself. Such kindred spirits, it was meant to be! The way she starts to abandon vocal opinions as soon as you enter the conversation cannot be other than a sign that she wants you to be her spokesperson.

3) Thorn

When pursuing this prickly approach, be prepared to disagree with anything and everything said by the woman you have your eyes on. Better still, find something that really irritates her, or that she is embarrassed about, anything at all, and hassle, hassle, hassle. If she hates people talking sport, bring up tonight’s big game whenever she enters the conversation. If she thinks she is overweight, a constant barrage of fat-jokes and not-so-gentle reminders of her perceived awkward size should more than do the job. This approach is a favorite for those in primary school, where it is somehow effective at securing affections. It is also popular amongst the not-so-bright secondary schoolers, and uni-students that are yet to notice its extreme potency as a ‘botch’ tactic. Being verbally and physically assaulted by the offended object of their affections and by her coterie does generally help garner their understanding, eventually. The idea behind this method, if indeed any thinking goes into it at all, is ‘any attention is good attention’. While this is often fantastic for ambitious politicians and businesses, in social situations it is only successful if by ‘success’ you mean alienating yourself from everyone around you who realize how much of a jackass you are. In this way it’s quite a broad-spectrum approach.

4) Superhero

Strut your stuff in fantastic form. Wow her with daring displays of culinary prowess; astound her with death defying leaps from balconies or with magnificent recitations of the alphabet in burp. For those pursuing the 'Superhero', no task is too small, ridiculous, or dangerous that it cannot be attempted with pigheaded obstinacy and attention-seeking flair. This method is popular amongst individuals who imbibe more alcohol than their sensibilities can counteract. The idea behind it arises from a rather primal desire to impress with skills, strength, and most of all, fearlessness. Discomfiture and embarrassment by the target party is a common result, as the stunt goes horribly awry or was horribly chosen in the first place. At least you get a lot of laughs and provide endless amusement for your friends.

5) Crooner

If you are an aspiring Frank Sinatra, this one is for you. Poetry is the language of love, and you want to get your message across loud and clear. The mainstays of this approach are bad love poems (ultra-soppy editions), but any letters generally overflowing with amourocity qualify also. Wax lyrical. Find grandiose and excessive ways of communication your attraction: perhaps a solo, beneath her window whilst standing in a pile of wilting roses; perhaps a (not-so) sober public declaration from tabletop in the midst of a social gathering. Dedicating songs on the radio could also be an idea, though perhaps a touch subtle for success. The options are only as limited as your hormone-addled imagination, so go wild.

6) Gentleman X-Treme

Is she an invalid? No, you’re just treating her like one. The gentleman X-Treme takes chivalry above and beyond the call of reason. You do everything for her, fetch drinks, return empty glasses, even hold up her end of conversations. Do not allow her to do anything that would even come within spitting distance (on a day with favorable gale-force winds) of taxing her. In your tender, all-controlling care, how can she but feel content?

7) Gift Giver

A gift gives back to the giver, so many gifts will bring huge rewards! Shower with gifts, nay, barrage her. Assault her at every turn with philanthropic displays of generosity. Wear down the entrenched fortifications of her affections with volley after relentless volley of benefaction. Every thing has its price, and you simply need to find what hers is. The perfect gifts for this tactic are ones of an overtly romantic nature, such as jewelry, heart-shaped chocolates, and flowers. Be creative, be imaginative, be expansive. Also be warned, this tactic can get pretty pricey very quick, but the reward just might be worth the cost. Possibly.



As in all things, there are those unfortunates amongst us who through shear grace, chutzpah, and smarm manage to fail abominably at each and all of these stratagems. The 'whys' and 'hows' are best left to individuals of greater wisdom than myself, suffice to say that some people seem genetically predisposed to a gross inability to 'botch a wooing'. Think of them with pity, but remember, for each one so smitten by fate, another horde of success stories are simply waiting to be discovered.

It's the opposite of

My hair was a mess
Lunchtime rode in
On well-oiled wheels
And left with a squeak
As I gulped down a meal

The boss spun lies
Like myriad webs
Each half-truth
Tripping over itself
In its eagerness to be out
I could forgive him
If not for the yellowing stain
Of cream bun on satin
A match for his yellowing smile.

I was up to my eyeballs
In ambivilent paper
Happy to sit there all day
But forcing work all the same.

She wasn't half bad, today
As she sashayed
Through the closing door
And into the meeting
Bang on time.
If I had her looks
There's no way
I'd ever be anything but.

Back to the Dark

One step
Foot sucked into shadow
Past the silhouette
Of no return
Take those ancient stairs
Down.

Makes it Easy

Show us a good time
In an everyday way
We're not searching for a fine wines
Just an every-way day.
Liquid conversation
Lays the foundation
It's ain't necessary
But it surely makes it easy.

A dessert, sampling
The silky flow of swing
By candle light
On a Monday night
That was always my thing.

A stairwell clasped in dark
A little Noah's ark
Two of a kind
On down the line
Back to the primal spark

Like I said,
The sultry sound of voice
Elevates the choice
It ain't necessary
But it surely makes it easy.

Enya on surround sound makes my soul merry.

3 Things

It's always easier to wreck something than to build it up.

The only thing harder than building something up is to destroy it completely.

Do you ever just sit there and ponder "My what big hands these are, I wonder when I got them..."?

Standing on a Hillside

Sometimes you look back on where you have been
Past the cloud-fluffy daffodils bobbing and green
Through the deep dark forests that hug at your feet
To that speck in the distance, planks that hold in
Warmpth and love.

Sometimes you look up, where the sparser grass
Claws its way heavenwards, and hides in the rocks
Where the trail lazy-curves it's own way past
The gap where the warm sky somehow eludes
The ambitious earth.

WhiteShadows

Back to the wall
And the white shadows
Illuminate us all
Looking at the greener grass
And getting a face full of glare
I'm just glad to know that you're out there
Somewhere.

Planes of snow, and tracks leading into
The space between the sky and the sun
We wander on alone
With just five smooth stones
Against a giant
And he's standing strong and tall
I would too, if I could hide us all
Like a giant wrecking ball
Crashing home

So I'm looking for the greener grass
And getting a face full of glare
I'm just glad to know that you're out there
Somewhere.

Hacking away

Tall tales frame small talk
With a walk on the beach passing time.
Beneath the veneer of a man swilling beer
You're a queer kind of king of sublime.

Hacking away at the ice of the day.

She loved you. She left you
A blue smudge of makeup in rose
Tinted gloss, decrying you lost
Embossed on the hem of your second-best clothes.

A seat on a bleached pallid beach
You teach me the essence of loss
Beneath the veneer of a man drinking beer
You're a sheer examplar of your cross.

I thought I saw a man late last night
He couldn't see what was coming up from out the night
He didn't put up any fight.
Could it be that we forgot to say
Something warm, something glib to drive the frost away
That's how I see it anyway

There's something there, you used to smile
Come and let's us talk a while
It's not as if we can't.
But something always breaks
Tomorrow tells us nothing
When we refuse to listen
Cramped and unforgiven
Underneath the heavans.
But you used to smile
And we'd find something to say.

Thoughts from a Moving Vehicle

Shouldn't be content with ambivalence
Wouldn't be hell bent on dissonance
If it weren't so hard to reconcile
The whipper-snapping, infantile
Record of my past events.

Just Been:

One hell of a week
Or one week of hell.
I am not sure.

Here Comes the Sun

On a night much as this
Where the gleaming eyes of the waters
Gaze over a sleeping city
Came a lone man to his bliss.
Wearing ugg-boots and a scarf,
She drew the night in beads
Laughing as she hurled them into the waters
Till the gleaming eyes winked back.

A poet relaxed on an urban hill,
Glass beneath him echoing
The dazzling lights above.
Stringing syllables together
In the noon-day sun.

Fishing for time or saying your piece
When you smile politely and swallow your grief
Doing these things beyond belief
Beyond the seas
Daughter come home
And pieces of one
Will be made whole.

Birthday

There is a tiger in the woods.
To the mist she clings
And trails like smoke
A wild thing,
Animal pure, bearing
Death's silent sting

She roars, like a beast in ascent
At the foodchain peak
Or a man on the brink
Of denying defeat.

She slinks in the soft shadows
Between candle-lights
And calls to the moon
In the vastness of nights
A gall-mingled cocktail
Of despair and delight
Alone and aloof
And hidden from sight.

Distractions from the Sermon

Saphires
Pearls
A waterfall
Summertime
Green shoots
and Golden thread
a Dawning day
You.

2 Reasons I Dislike the American Government

The way they seek to run other countries.
The way they run their own.

His tiny voice
His titanic heart.
The worlds sorrows
Did him drown.

Shells rain down on Arabs
The world glances
Then passes by.
Marshmellows drizzle down on the West
The world a splode.

A Work in Progress.

She decorates her eyelash
She applies finishing touches
Glowing in the starlight
Of her mirrored compact.
Rolling through the streets
On a swerving force of nature
With a suped-up V8 engine
Playing follow the lead.

A goddess in disguise
A universe of sequins
Smiling from beginning
For a magical evening.

She steps up to the doorway
She's a vision in a red dress
A lady bent on conquest
Leaving little else to say.
But nothing goes to plan
And night bleeds into ruin
He taunts her like their children
Dressed like a fully grown man.

And she is a ship between the icebergs
Looking her best
In that stunning dress
And runnels down her cheeks.

Three Presents Pulled from a Mixed Bag

Salvation sometimes is
A mixture of blessings.
When holding a seed to the light
I find myself counting into the future,
One, two, three, perception expands
Behold a tree, drinking deep in desert sands.



That man is born into sins
And borne out to the self
Is a question beyond answer.
He pools himself
In shattered shadows
And rolls the ground
Beneath his tread.
Till yesterday is smooth and narrow
And tomorrow is a rocky bed.

Cozened embrace
Processed air fluffs
My marshmallow hairdoo.
I refill my shotglass.

Fly My Pretties.

Over the silent storm
Beer couched in a sweating palm
Conversations flutter
Back and forth, back and forth.
Function follows form
As gazes swallow alarm
And toothless jibes are uttered.

Bequethed a sundered sunrise
Fly my pretties
I'd hoped for better
But the weather
Not a cloud in the sky,
And a star shining north
Like a beacon of hope.