Eyes

Lightening lady,
with the beasts’ fires
started, by your love,
within my mind.
I’m torn –
each time your vagrant,
dust blown, spies
are lined with mine –
between our ties.

And as I lie
dumb (naked) and, most probably,
asleep:

The dreams that fill this head,
and are of you,
are mine to keep.

Though eagerly I reach
for your sweet love to find me.
Every time you look
I fear what it is
you think you see.

Eyes

Le Livre Française

Outside the internet café
You sit reading your French book
A sweat bead races others
To the hem of your red striped frock
I hear your dancing words
And understand not one
Until another scooter
Dings loudly past
And flicks dust from the road
Here you breathe out noisily
And suck gassy coke
Returning to your reading
Leaving the loud ting of can on table
As soundscape
To the shimmering view
Of catamarans on that blue water.

Moronica

Don’t give me the runaround
As you dumb down
The home crowd
I need your stiff touch
As you coat those around me
With the dim brush

Don’t leave me here thinking
While you hop on
Crowning those blinking
Don’t miss out this brain
As your nightly dance
Tip-toes past all my world again

I yearn for swift idiocy
Please lead this mind to bliss
Why – catching every other bean about me -
Do I escape again stupidity?

So now’s empty my head time
Soft scoop behind these eyes
I’ll stop this complaining
When you leave me unwise.

cut red cabbage

image: bujons cabbage, video: Alan Watts, via Omega Point

Duplicity

Ambled in,
with his smell
like a case of bad wind.
Rousing all the preachers
& bleeders from their beds
rising even Docility’s
dull dishevelled head.

 Why those lies?

All these good men of God
stood up to cry:

 Where have you blown in from boy
awakening us – does this bring your joy?
Well, here I am a lie,
and first you think me boy
& then I’ve stirred you up?
Were you sleeping anyway?

Just then the crowd
of sleepy blokes
remembered all their sleeping folk.
So whispering in whispered voices
each one, straight, told Duplicity:
He was annoyed!

 Well here I sit in quandary men
I’m unmoved by your gripes
and I shall wake you up again
whether daytime or at night.
You cannot sleep you truthful chaps
else lies like me will steel

And left, just then, back through the night
biding time until the next false thrill

The pull of the past

There is a will, some while away, a pull which whispers dreams
It isn’t clear which way it wills, nor clear’s it’s choice of days
Today it’s breath is close forsure about my neck and in my mind
And somehow I do not brush it clear
I do not shake it loose
I do not pinch my eyes to blot it out; today I do not mind.

On my quiet journey, singularly tracking through the hubris of our sunny sprawl
The many well inked freaks, the milieu of tattooed
All jabbering on of tales of anger, whether theirs or borrowed from TV
Cause me to reflect on this whispering will and explore the why’s behind my embracing stance?
I am racing home
That is not my life anymore
I am free to come and go, and stay or go.

Who’s the hoo?

Who are your groups?
Blue groups
Blue groups
Where’d they arrive from?
Black lands
Dark skies
Who are your groups?
New groups
New groups
What do they know?
Dark laughs
Black lies
What do you wish for
bringing groups like yours here?
Bringing dreams full of shadows
draped in your grand ideas?
What do you wish for?
What do you want?
How long have you waited?
How deep is your love?
Who are your groups
That have havoc to wreak?
Who laugh through the
blood dripping smoke
that you breathe?
These, your people,
Your groups
Your groups
Great news!
Black skies
Bleak groups!