In the fall, the leaves
Begin their fight.
You can tell there
Is something resisting,
It’s in the changing air.
In the fall, the leaves
Begin to charge.
You can tell there
Is something burning,
All bright flash and flare.
In the fall, the leaves
Begin to cling.
You can tell there
Is something begging
To be seen in their fall.
In the fall, the leaves
Begin their funeral.
You can tell there
Is something moving
In how they say their prayer.
But the last leaf sings so loud
And as he falls down to the ground
He joins the rest of fall, resting, oh so proud.
August 22/2011
Tuesday 18 October 2011
Wednesday 14 September 2011
When I Hear the Artists' Call
The artists' call lights a fire within,
My scribbling fueled by some spontaneous combustion,
The artists' call opens these dreamy eyes,
As my consciousness touches down on realities,
The artists' call so blessed and cursed,
Left me passions and ideas that can never be nursed,
The artists' call stopped my life,
Put me at odds with the world and in perpetual strife,
The artists' call started this sentence,
And I will forever write in penance...
September 14th/2011
My scribbling fueled by some spontaneous combustion,
The artists' call opens these dreamy eyes,
As my consciousness touches down on realities,
The artists' call so blessed and cursed,
Left me passions and ideas that can never be nursed,
The artists' call stopped my life,
Put me at odds with the world and in perpetual strife,
The artists' call started this sentence,
And I will forever write in penance...
September 14th/2011
Sunday 21 August 2011
Dream Walking
I took a walk the other night
On a path, in the forest of the ages.
In high branches to my delight,
There were birds there in cages.
I would leave the trees with a sigh,
As the path gave way to rolling
Meadows, I whispered “Goodbye
You caged birds, I’m sorry I’m leaving you,
I’m sorry I could not have saved you.”
Now two girls holding a flower pot,
The meadow’s path had led me to.
Inside the flower pot was not
What you would expect for there was
A daisy, a cobra, and a baby.
Now I was caught in panic because
The babe was innocent and be
It as it was, caught in the serpent’s coils.
Still laughing and playing with the
Snake and the daisy I could not
Grab hold of the deadly cobra.
Every time my hand reached out
Venomous fangs did poise
On the most threatening note.
But to the baby, they were just toys.
As the little girls and I peered
Inside the flower pot the babe did play;
In one hand the serpent sneered,
In the other the daisy was mixed in the fray.
I took my chance, my brothers now
Stood beside me. They handed me a blade,
(You could say, this is when I took my bow)
I grabbed hold of the thing that prayed
Upon innocent young, upon life!
Upon the sanctity of the flower pot!
I ended the snakes life, with the knife,
I cut off the snakes head, let that never be forgot.
You see the viper had to die,
I ate that snake, and
Said please baby,
Baby, don’t cry.
August 1st/2011
On a path, in the forest of the ages.
In high branches to my delight,
There were birds there in cages.
I would leave the trees with a sigh,
As the path gave way to rolling
Meadows, I whispered “Goodbye
You caged birds, I’m sorry I’m leaving you,
I’m sorry I could not have saved you.”
Now two girls holding a flower pot,
The meadow’s path had led me to.
Inside the flower pot was not
What you would expect for there was
A daisy, a cobra, and a baby.
Now I was caught in panic because
The babe was innocent and be
It as it was, caught in the serpent’s coils.
Still laughing and playing with the
Snake and the daisy I could not
Grab hold of the deadly cobra.
Every time my hand reached out
Venomous fangs did poise
On the most threatening note.
But to the baby, they were just toys.
As the little girls and I peered
Inside the flower pot the babe did play;
In one hand the serpent sneered,
In the other the daisy was mixed in the fray.
I took my chance, my brothers now
Stood beside me. They handed me a blade,
(You could say, this is when I took my bow)
I grabbed hold of the thing that prayed
Upon innocent young, upon life!
Upon the sanctity of the flower pot!
I ended the snakes life, with the knife,
I cut off the snakes head, let that never be forgot.
You see the viper had to die,
I ate that snake, and
Said please baby,
Baby, don’t cry.
August 1st/2011
Wednesday 20 July 2011
The Primordial Man
It happened so quickly.
So quietly.
Like a mosquito’s bite,
It drew the blood of man.
Instantly, the wound festered
Upon his civil hand.
His intelligence ran
Away to a far off land,
Yet left a buzzing in his ears.
As he left the city street
He found his safety in
A green forest’s retreat,
From fear of an unknown thing.
Away from dangerous constructs
His simple mind destructs
And slips into an innocent brain.
Reunited with Mother’s art.
Firmly settled in Nature's home.
He lay with peace across her heart,
That of soft mossy stone.
He lay with thoughts like a
Baby, all Awe and Woo.
Eyes interpret the sky’s
Characters of cloud and blue hue.
An eye of bright up above,
The Primordial man felt no love,
For it hurt to gaze upon.
He tried to hide from
Its pervasive hot pain,
But sure enough it would come
To find, where he had lain.
Further into the bush
He pushed until
He’d gone far enough,
Then he sat there still.
Contemplation crept inside,
His mind where observation once had dwelt.
(And this is when his spirit died)
“What of this light,”
He lay beneath.
“That I cannot fight?”
What becomes belief
Is born of superstition.
Origins are obvious;
Putting man in a position
Under sky light, utterly oblivious!
He’d gotten this far in
With little interaction,
Running like a mad man
All flight and fright
Until the black of night
Absorbed his sight
With distant twinkling light.
“A spectacle! What a thrill!”
Until the storm did gather.
(Now the twinkling night, it did kill.)
A dove floats on white feather
Holding an olive branch true.
In it he saw something beautiful,
In it he saw something new.
July 19th/2011
So quietly.
Like a mosquito’s bite,
It drew the blood of man.
Instantly, the wound festered
Upon his civil hand.
His intelligence ran
Away to a far off land,
Yet left a buzzing in his ears.
As he left the city street
He found his safety in
A green forest’s retreat,
From fear of an unknown thing.
Away from dangerous constructs
His simple mind destructs
And slips into an innocent brain.
Reunited with Mother’s art.
Firmly settled in Nature's home.
He lay with peace across her heart,
That of soft mossy stone.
He lay with thoughts like a
Baby, all Awe and Woo.
Eyes interpret the sky’s
Characters of cloud and blue hue.
An eye of bright up above,
The Primordial man felt no love,
For it hurt to gaze upon.
He tried to hide from
Its pervasive hot pain,
But sure enough it would come
To find, where he had lain.
Further into the bush
He pushed until
He’d gone far enough,
Then he sat there still.
Contemplation crept inside,
His mind where observation once had dwelt.
(And this is when his spirit died)
“What of this light,”
He lay beneath.
“That I cannot fight?”
What becomes belief
Is born of superstition.
Origins are obvious;
Putting man in a position
Under sky light, utterly oblivious!
He’d gotten this far in
With little interaction,
Running like a mad man
All flight and fright
Until the black of night
Absorbed his sight
With distant twinkling light.
“A spectacle! What a thrill!”
Until the storm did gather.
(Now the twinkling night, it did kill.)
A dove floats on white feather
Holding an olive branch true.
In it he saw something beautiful,
In it he saw something new.
July 19th/2011
Time Bandit: Poem
The Time Bandit
I woke today
To see him slip
Out and away,
I chase, I trip,
I fall, I stay
On the cold hard
Truth of yesterday.
Evidence of
His midnight play
Is marked by bare
Spots swept away.
I can only stare
As he will say
Through a wide smile;
“Sorry, my prey!
Linger awhile,
That I cannot
Try to do, or
Even stand the thought!”
What he said that for,
Left me distraught
And followed out
The door he had sought
Out to place doubt
Inside my thought:
That he could be
Something he’s not.
Rage you ruin me.
He has to be fought!
Surrender or fight.
Almost out of ear shot,
Out of eye sight.
I became aware
Of what has been
Caught in his snare;
Time stolen unseen
It was right there
On watch and clock
Now they are bare.
No more tick tock.
July 19th/2011
I woke today
To see him slip
Out and away,
I chase, I trip,
I fall, I stay
On the cold hard
Truth of yesterday.
Evidence of
His midnight play
Is marked by bare
Spots swept away.
I can only stare
As he will say
Through a wide smile;
“Sorry, my prey!
Linger awhile,
That I cannot
Try to do, or
Even stand the thought!”
What he said that for,
Left me distraught
And followed out
The door he had sought
Out to place doubt
Inside my thought:
That he could be
Something he’s not.
Rage you ruin me.
He has to be fought!
Surrender or fight.
Almost out of ear shot,
Out of eye sight.
I became aware
Of what has been
Caught in his snare;
Time stolen unseen
It was right there
On watch and clock
Now they are bare.
No more tick tock.
July 19th/2011
Sunday 5 June 2011
Call of the Wild: Poetry Collection
In Hunters Skin
I stumbled upon the
Valley of the wolves.
I knew it was that hollow
Where that thirsty pack hid.
Because I saw blood red
Soaking their teeth and their claws
And the clothes of the dead.
I followed the impressions
In the snow retreating
From the door the wolves were
Knocking on. I followed
The tracks true, afraid for you,
And the omen these beasts would
Cast with their howl to the moon.
June 4th, 2011
At the House of the Wolf
The hunter’s gun would soon
Protrude where it did not
Belong. Although not virgin
To its touch, the valley
Did shiver and the wolves
Came out to sing to the moon.
Their lullaby’s howl could
Not find a shallow in
The rage of the man with
The gun. His murky heart’s
Depths would bubble and
Boil in upset turmoil.
And never let the valley
Of the victims find rest.
June 4th 2011
Fall of The Wild
The King of cats
Now rests on Hercules’
Shoulders. And the Queen
Of the hive has wasted
Her sting on the hands
That would steal from
Her honey-comb cradle.
The place where the King
Once reigned and the
Queen did flirt with her flowery
Grounds has been shaken and taken
By Mans march to the drum.
The slave trade hauled away
The queen in chains and the
Cowardly king won’t spring today
Through hoops of fire to save her.
Now concrete and steel
Converge on natures Royalties.
Man constructed and stole,
Dethroning the lions and the bees.
June 4th, 2011
The Island
I wake up on the island
Shores as white and piercing as an elephant tusk.
Graceful palm trees erupting against dusk.
I trace imprints on the island sand
Boars of the forests trample by,
A sign to the left says Go or Die.
I smile to the islands sky
And calm water comes in tiny waves
Across the colours of the sand in rainbow shades.
I stay awhile on the island.
April 16/ 10
I stumbled upon the
Valley of the wolves.
I knew it was that hollow
Where that thirsty pack hid.
Because I saw blood red
Soaking their teeth and their claws
And the clothes of the dead.
I followed the impressions
In the snow retreating
From the door the wolves were
Knocking on. I followed
The tracks true, afraid for you,
And the omen these beasts would
Cast with their howl to the moon.
June 4th, 2011
At the House of the Wolf
The hunter’s gun would soon
Protrude where it did not
Belong. Although not virgin
To its touch, the valley
Did shiver and the wolves
Came out to sing to the moon.
Their lullaby’s howl could
Not find a shallow in
The rage of the man with
The gun. His murky heart’s
Depths would bubble and
Boil in upset turmoil.
And never let the valley
Of the victims find rest.
June 4th 2011
Fall of The Wild
The King of cats
Now rests on Hercules’
Shoulders. And the Queen
Of the hive has wasted
Her sting on the hands
That would steal from
Her honey-comb cradle.
The place where the King
Once reigned and the
Queen did flirt with her flowery
Grounds has been shaken and taken
By Mans march to the drum.
The slave trade hauled away
The queen in chains and the
Cowardly king won’t spring today
Through hoops of fire to save her.
Now concrete and steel
Converge on natures Royalties.
Man constructed and stole,
Dethroning the lions and the bees.
June 4th, 2011
The Island
I wake up on the island
Shores as white and piercing as an elephant tusk.
Graceful palm trees erupting against dusk.
I trace imprints on the island sand
Boars of the forests trample by,
A sign to the left says Go or Die.
I smile to the islands sky
And calm water comes in tiny waves
Across the colours of the sand in rainbow shades.
I stay awhile on the island.
April 16/ 10
Thursday 2 June 2011
Reaching From the Past: Poetry Collection
History Pages
Kings and Priest we have but none;
A godless thought begot.
What then should I preach dear son.
Of mobs and consequences long forgot?
To show you fear in a handful of pages,
Would I not have looked past the looking glass?
Of things fabled in Cain and Abel's ages.
And jumped down a depression in the grass?
A web my words will spin around me
And force a dance to the devils beat.
Learn to tango romantically on the silky strands
And lines. Would careful footing place us in heaven's retreat?
I propose, dear son, the burning question.
Will you believe in this impression?
2010
Man and the Flower of the Universe.
He stood there in quiet stature
Looking upon flowery sod.
He must tear the mask off nature,
To look upon the face of God.
Pulling up handfuls of roots and petals,
Proclaiming, Oh God! Where are thee?
His soul must find a place to settle,
And lay among flowers eternally.
No need to uproot the leaves of history.
Flowers have grown and died before
In the Big Bang, His face he’ll see.
He questions God’s nature no more,
For he looks upon his world now
And asks not, how was this created, how?
Feb 11/11
Thoughts on the Universe
Have we not pondered the Universe
And found to disturb it to be perverse?
Has Time and Tenderness not
Written lines across my face?
And their pen will scribble
until bone is exposed, in frantic pace.
Is it not our curse to hold the light
With steady hand against the dark?
To put question to our religious creation
And reason out our scientific nation?
2010
Kings and Priest we have but none;
A godless thought begot.
What then should I preach dear son.
Of mobs and consequences long forgot?
To show you fear in a handful of pages,
Would I not have looked past the looking glass?
Of things fabled in Cain and Abel's ages.
And jumped down a depression in the grass?
A web my words will spin around me
And force a dance to the devils beat.
Learn to tango romantically on the silky strands
And lines. Would careful footing place us in heaven's retreat?
I propose, dear son, the burning question.
Will you believe in this impression?
2010
Man and the Flower of the Universe.
He stood there in quiet stature
Looking upon flowery sod.
He must tear the mask off nature,
To look upon the face of God.
Pulling up handfuls of roots and petals,
Proclaiming, Oh God! Where are thee?
His soul must find a place to settle,
And lay among flowers eternally.
No need to uproot the leaves of history.
Flowers have grown and died before
In the Big Bang, His face he’ll see.
He questions God’s nature no more,
For he looks upon his world now
And asks not, how was this created, how?
Feb 11/11
Thoughts on the Universe
Have we not pondered the Universe
And found to disturb it to be perverse?
Has Time and Tenderness not
Written lines across my face?
And their pen will scribble
until bone is exposed, in frantic pace.
Is it not our curse to hold the light
With steady hand against the dark?
To put question to our religious creation
And reason out our scientific nation?
2010
These Words That Leave Me: Poetry Collection
St. Lucifer & Me
A curse was cast upon me.
After I made a deal with the
Devil, to always be his
Advocate. If he could spare
Me from the wrath
Of God. I said,
If He will not have me,
Then no one shall. I will carry
Your words St. Lucifer, as
You’ve put barbs upon my tongue
And ice to my touch.
Don’t tell me it is beautiful outside,
I’ll just say it will only rain
Tomorrow. And Tomorrow
There will be a man who has
to kill another man.
to kill another man.
And I’ll have to walk out into
The rain of tomorrow’s storm
And once more be an advocate
for the wrong.
I’ll set myself against you
Like the down pour and the
Gail of the West Wind. I’ll build
Up my defences against every
Thought you thought could
Be true. And worst of all; I’ll
Tell you there is no God.
And I’ll have my just reward
For the price I pay to walk
Hand in hand with St. Lucifer.
Cursed always to take up his plea.
June 2nd/2011
The Confused
Why do I bother fighting
My Hallucinations? Why do I
Play into their feeble
Games? Is there something
To this imagined order?
A string attached to some
Benevolent hand? The same hand
That casts the lightning down
Around me. And builds the shelter
Which I take sweet refuge in?
Like a house built up of words and mortar
That will make walls that never fall.
I see through the fog that bars
The doorway to the house there in the mist,
And lay my hand upon the one
That spins the world round on its
Axis. Should we still fight these
Hallucinations, if they are all we’ve
Ever known? I can’t seem to find that
Blueprint, that thing to help me set
Right whats been planned and
What we’ve let things become.
June. 2nd/2011
When the Tallest Man Walks the Earth
I heard the thunder and watched them catch
A lightning strike in a jar just to see it die.
Yet still this was no crime compared
To the greatest heist; to steal tomorrow's
Borrowed day.
Borrowed day.
And rumor has it I wasn’t born
I just walked out one stormy morn
In a vision of a vacant memory.
And I will not rest in a cemetery
From the day we live you know
We will have to burn.
In a ring of fire at my funeral,
I’ll play the poetic matador and
Provoke my bull with words.
June. 2nd/2011
With all due respect and credit to the Tallest Man on Earth
With all due respect and credit to the Tallest Man on Earth
The Leaving Lover and The Looking Fool
In the place where I stash my
Memories, my soul will not let me
Forget the things that have loved and
Left. To place this aching in the
House of the soul and carry on
With forgotten memories seems too
Cruel a fate for things left and loved.
Cruel a fate for things left and loved.
The Leaving Lover would say.
There stood the looking fool, staring
Like a blank slate down the road
He’ll never travel on.
Hand clutched upon the gate.
He said, “Oh why am I
Not strong, like the path
for which I long. Upon its back
A thousand boot heels have tread.
And upon its road side so many
Men have been laid down dead.
Oh dear lord, why am I not strong?
Like that traveling man who
Forged the good ol’ trail.
I’ll never know, and never share his
Tale. Less I leave this place,
And quit looking like the fool.
Release the gate and walk the path
And be strong like the soul in my bones.
June. 2nd/2011
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