Waiting for You …

In the land of many ills

There’ll always be the one

That’s listening to the voices

(The ones nobody else can hear),

Where grain costs more as liquid –

In the city where rock is

Melted for gain and steel is

Twisted by prophets.

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Lookin’ for Someone …

A little tremble

In the full lips,

A little tear –

That nobody ought notice –

Building in a blue eye;

Blonde hair waterfalls

Across a single loop ear ring.

Me? I’m – mostly – comfortable

Waiting for an onward connection

In this universal airport gate chair,

In this end-of-tour skin.

But this lady has my attention;

Lost maybe and in need.

I catch her gaze, hold it.

She forces a smile:

“Don’t mind me,” she drawls

“I’m just lookin’ for somebody …”

“Me too,” I’m thinking,

“But, Hell, Lady,

I’ll stop lookin’ if you will …”

But she’s gone before

The thought is complete.

Neighbour

He’s choppin’ at the strings

With intelligent-blues hands

Swappin’ up words ’bout

Love, the Devil and autumn

But beneath all the fury –

Raised voice, clenched fist;

Beyond the witch-gypsy mask

He still picks vegetables for

The local church harvest.

Getting Past the Questions

No point in asking the doctors

How long we will need

To decide if there is

Something wrong with time.

Have there always been

These soul-quiet streams

From the seas of space

That stop the darkness

Getting in, that keep us from

Getting past the questions?