Sunday - in the pouring rain.

How am I going to lug the gas cylinder down to the shop,

never mind in the pouring rain?

It will be four trips, in the pouring rain.

One to get the trolly,

One to bring down the empty

One to bring back the full

And one to bring back the trolly.

Make that five, another to return home.

So five trips in the pouring rain

to make soup.

Yes, I think it is worth it.

Cut and dry.

Nothing is,

what crumbles between your fingers

when touched, like thoughts, that once

were deemed so important,

now lie formless beneath your feet.

In a manifestation of repressed emotion

your tears evaporate into the ether.

Lost in the mist forever wandering

the time-warped forest, wounded, snarling,

you reach out across the gorge.

Chasms filled with untold thoughts,

stories with no beginning

tales with no end.

Pain, joy, pain again,

a light peaking through the cloud

snowdrops falling

you run the rickety wooden bridge

you jump the broken, rotting slats

dashing back towards your lost memories,

Infernal fire burns behind,

you know there is no return.

Succombing to the senses.

Will quick, awake, alive.

Survival rests in every cell,

no prophesy can ever tell,

what round every bend will show,

a taste of heaven, a smell of hell,

and things you may never, ever know.

Fiocle March 2011.

Everyone needs. - June 2011

These thoughts keep running through my head, periodically over time. So I decided to write them down.

Everyone needs physical affection.

Everyone needs to have an outlet to share.

Everyone needs to be appreciated.

Everyone needs to appreciate.

Everyone needs to know they belong somewhere.

Everyone needs to feel special.

Everyone needs to keep their feet on the ground.

Everyone needs friends.

Everyone needs to be a friend

Everyone needs sunlight

Everyone needs oxygen

Everyone needs water

Everyone needs food.

Everyone needs truth.

Everyone needs to be truthful.

Everyone needs to believe in something

Everyone needs to be believed.

Everyone needs sleep.

Everyone needs someone to sleep with.

Everyone needs to be kind.

Everyone needs kindness.

Everyone needs to be woken by birdsong.

Everyone needs to awaken birds with song.

Perpetual Chaos

The future prevailed, our lives de-railed,

The sturm and drang of it, no siren sang of it.

And everything that came before and after

was no disaster and certainly

couldn't plaster the deep, deep, wound

that left us sitting raw and stinging.

With ears ringing, we couldn't hear the song

designed to cheer, because it couldn't be composed.

It does not exist, so we continue to try to resist the iron fist

that everyone knows, can slap up against your grief

and give no small relief, to the constant happy clap-clapping,

of the ones who don't know the feeling.

The consistent reeling, while the cracks

of the existential whip continue to trip us.

But there it is in black and white,

no imminent warning to herald the morning,

the mourning that will never cease.

Snow White in the City - a poem

Snow White

in the city lights

just dreaming

of those moonlit nights

swapping stars for stars,

and cars for acres

of wild and free

but these dreams

can no longer comfort bring

outside the birds still sing

in concrete trees,

no rest on wires of string

but the song carries through

the smoky air and passes it

to those who care

and those who don't

and kicks the ass

of those who won't.

While in another time, another day

A Monkey Puzzle Tree

who'll never have his say

stands solitary

in majestically dignified

defiant self-defense.