Across a Surreal landscape
White defeats the green Black naked branches Reach towards low slung clouds As snow flurries lash Exposed skin on cheerful faces We shelter in each other’s warmth And conversations of sunshine Promoted by Wine, good gin and pizza.
The road out.
Am I a witch?
A word witch Capable of casting Protective spells To distract a troubled mind? To make eyes smile While faces weep. To rip concentration From the memory Of a roadside accident And highlight the colour – The amazing colour – Of that pedestrians hair. Could it be that I give freely Or am I somehow paid by the simple act Of writing these words, Which distract me from Personal demons and Discomforting thoughts? Could it be that my words Are like the spray paint Of a street artist? Loved by some Reviled by others, A simple distraction to most. Inside me, Words are pleasure and pain Joy and fear. And the surprise is, Those same words to you Can create the opposite… Move them around. Let them settle.
Maybe then I will be paid
With a gentle smile At the corner of your eyes.
patiently trees wait
to praise each glor’ous sunrise
poems on paper
It is said; if you wear an ugly face
When the wind changes –
Your face will stay that way.
If the wind changes
While my heart is broken –
Will it stay that way too?
From the west it came
Carrying dust and sandflies.
My skin dried and grit filled my eyes.
I felt I’d never be the same.
This ill wind had blown no good.
To my despair was added discomfort.
Hopes for peace had come up short –
I let myself fall.
On any still night
When the clouds are low
And the city lights,
Create an orange glow.
You may perceive it.
Maybe not in the first instant
But with time you might
Come to notice the remnant.
It’s the noise that’s left behind
As society goes about its business –
The machineries daily grind.
It’s an eerie, almost silence.
You’ll know it from the time
You’re sweetheart touched your hand
In that crowded five and dime
The murmur, the only sound that remained.
And as you stand at sea’s shore
On this calm, steamy evening
You can hear it once more,
The hum of lives out there – living.
At this precipice –
When everything falls aside
When relevance is intimate
Is colour unquestionably brighter
Is salt air now honestly sweet
Are priorities still valid
Are beliefs still as profound
Or has reality given wings to life
Or perhaps lit a previously dark path
Then step back and taste this life
Then begin to live on your terms
Now you have made the choice –
Now you are free.