a summer fighter
to grow to be a swan
now the golden goose has died
and I don't care
the white feathers
I might have earned
are blackened by the miles
two comrades remain...
we ache at times
our hearts plastic bags caught on nerves of barbed wire
I feel I didn't lose
She rises again.
So do the machines
upright like crosses in prayer
again and again
but not really
the time ensuring
of the service are met.
She smells (of)
the fuel of such visions
the beads in a rosary of cloud.
Only this fire
the heat and the warmth
there is nowhere
it can burn.
"Do you wish to choose your seat, sir?"
"Do you really wish to fly?"
if you knew the answers
you'd be free of this sky
you hadn't packed these bags yourself
If only a friend had given you something to carry
You could leave your soul unattended, unchecked for an instant
I think as I envisage and visualise
when I imagine and project
I forecast and provide for
what I can never see or smell and certainly not touch.
Then I decide
to set aside
I listen, and I hear!
I feel true.
After being a spy for so long, and after the darkness of absolute faith, coming down is painful, as for one kicking a habit.
He penetrated deep and believed enough for others to believe that he was what he was pretending to be.
And for a second,
he was almost lost.
If he stays alive, he will be free, the knowledge to free others a secret whisper inside, a meaning for all.
Cyberpunk flower was there. She knows. When she smiles, I'm home.
I skirt the furrows time sculpted
the cantilevers of sinews exposed
around ears that heard my voice so long ago.
The lips now dry
Cells on show and veins
Carefully I gaze as features are out once again
He doesn't wear a mask
Just a shave every gentleman deserves.
How many funerals and birthdays have you missed because you were in the wrong place?
How much time do you spend in the place where you feel you belong?
Are you able to feel at home anywhere any more?
Can you choose where you are going to be?
Do people know where to find you?
Do people recognise you in any place?
How often do you see your loved ones?
Can you answer the question 'where are you from'?
Are all conversations just an introduction?
It is so small it fits in my pocket: now I'm too big, exposed and cold.
I can no longer walk along my path - for I can see where it ends without effort.
I need not meet people - I am connected.
I don't have to to detect their moods - they will signal to me how they feel.
The world at the push of a button.
I can relax, then!
Primordial Apple, temptress in simplicity.
The pages of a book in the sand, curling, wrinkles, a smile in the sun.
She sits like a flower waiting to blossom
Pouring into me
like a Lover
As I find home.
Please oh please make his feet as sturdy as a track
make his stomach a harbour whose nearby beaches show ridges of sand caressing the water
make his back a bridge between tension and release
his buttocks dunes of rock where to weather the storm
change his arms into hammers to serve and protect
may his chest become a casket housing the soul.
But please, please, make his shoulders grow wide,
unfold and span the sky,
wings looking upwards
she can climb on and fly