Every word they said

Each thing done

Have been the engineers

The architects


The geysers of emotion

Washed my skin

Sometimes in acid anger

And betrayal


Soft balms of love

And support

Rare at this stake

No blues here!


For every trace

On the trellis of life

Has me woven

Into tapestry


Each eggshell shard

Of knowledge stored

With the winter squirrels

Under the oak


At the point before mind

The nascent world

Is yet to become

And so still, it’s here


Each soft caress of fate

Has sculpted my clay

And fired me

In the ovens


Eyes without glaze

Look cosmos past

The aching mundane

To Sirius and beyond


And were it not

For each hand

Each finger

I would not be where


At this place

In this time

Now the eternal

The fleeting second of forever

Soft Trickles of Melancholy {boys don’t cry}

on the desert dusty parchment

soft trickles of melancholy

write their rivulets


falling onto the desk

to break the hymen of silence,

so that the world, can hear


the sanguine wine

leaks from out the eyes

and bloodies the bitten lips


and that melancholy ache

can never be quenched

under a searing, fiery sun


the scorpion of fate

curls back through time

to sting and sting again


the scorching wadis

of just, righteous mind

tell us always, it is so


the heart entombed

in the dungeon of mind

as yet, still stirs


it beats its timpani

off the score

to no preordained libretto


one day that concrete damn

will start to leak

and at that very first fissure


on the desert dusty parchment

soft trickles of melancholy

will start their rivulets, anew


the tear of dew

will rip out an oasis

a font, a spring


and desert lore will say

as the aeons pass,

“That is where love was born!”

Soft Waves of Regret

If I let one tiny wavelet

past the bastions of reasons

the ramparts of justification

‘t would set me all a shiver


My vigilance must be supreme

for to allow such a heady thing

might shake my core

to litter the ground with tears


That pregnant tumult

with its full quiver of feelings

will overwhelm the keep

and battering ram the heart’s portcullis


To feel its orgasmic climax

shaking, shuddering through me

must I myself forbid

for to taste such fruit….


My frail hidden vulnerability

stripped harsh, naked, human

all that I tend to pretend

shattered into shards of glass


Each feather tickles enticing

soft undulating waves of regret

surreptitious at the harbor’s edge

resist you fool, resist…


Must fend of that tender melancholy

till dawn’s alarm beckons me busy

I can make it through one more night

I can, I can…

all het up {I am fine}

deep in my gums

emotions teething




those little bubbles rising in the pan

my three second egg is on to boil

I won’t let them out

I’ll burn them in oil


If I scrunch up my face

all paper balls in the bin

no-one will know

I am holding them in


I’ll cut up the soldiers

and chop off its head

soon there’ll be yoke

on each piece of bread 


fourteen billion years since

they last made me wince

I am hiding it well

my pretense doth convince


a Cathar’s release

how I yearn for a valve

a mere morsel of love

might yet prove my salve


the bottling plant whirrs

all ducks in a row

so much explosion

is pregnant and stirs


my pugilist’s jaw

clenched tighter than fists

if only I could dissolve

this reddest of mists


repressed am I no

most certain am I

can’t you tell from that look

here in my eye?


I am fine……..