The Ones Out of Place …

Cooling sun lowers it’s

April bulk behind the rooftop horizons.

Light will fade, die;

Clouds shift, shiver, sigh,

Spilled hot blood

Cool, congeal

Then dry.

We are the ones out of step,

The ones out of place, here;

We always were:

The dishonourable thieves,

Society wreckers,

Trouble seekers and

Storm brewers.

Not As Much

April rain delicately fills

Lonely glass forgotten

On dawn’s grey lawn.

The Nazareth man

And love’s only question.

Sure, it hurts

But not as much

As when its gone.

A Windows Machine

Clouds stained and stretched

Like overlapped, pulled thin

Butterfly wings pinned

Around the rolling-silk,

Last-light-of today sun

As it leaks to pale skins after

Sheets of April-vengeance hail.

I’m sitting at a windows machine

Wondering if I can believe the numbers;

Take the cold carborundum pressures.

Here, I truly believe, we could plant,

Could surely grow, might sustain Paradise:

Legacy, pass-along gardens that would

Proudly carry standards out of history

… into the future.

Dangerous Blues

Bright , pin-sharp cries

Of angel gulls,

Carrying on the winds of time;

Ghosts of past and

Spirits of future …

Echo …

…Echo.

These are the vulnerable blues;

I could have been so dangerous:

Back in the day.

Tides in the sky,

Clouds in the sea;

Which way is up?

Waves in the desert.

Half-way down April’s decision-river –

My darling-dancer’s coming home today –

But I won’t be there,

And I won’t be coming back.

Echo …

… Echo.

These are dangerous blues:

I am so vulnerable

Today.

16/4/2013