I was a kingfisher in your hand.
I was a man who licked the land.
The switch is off but the light is on.
Sometime in the future you'll be gone.
No more men will struggle in the sea.
I’ll refuse the fish that are brought to me.
The keeper of the snakes has you hidden.
Like a man on probation you're forbidden.
Eldred walks the fields when the day is done.
He reads too much of Blake and Tennyson.
Simple measures, simple pleasures
You don’t have to count other people’s treasures.
I touched the ruler with the jagged edge.
I have not found the golden hedge.
Niobe weeps upon the floor.
She cannot find what she is looking for.
Through our many endeavours we learn what is right.
From the days of our worship to the curse of the night.
IN THE POOL OF ABUNDANCE THERE IS DROUGHT
Dreams can come true
if you know the things to do.
The only thing that’s stopping you
is that you're tied up too.
I've got someone to comfort me.
I’ve got someone to care.
I’ve got someone who has the key,
and she’s around somewhere.
I’m dreaming of the portrait
you never gave to me.
I’m dreaming of me and you
standing by the sea.
I could never be the master.
I could never be the son.
I could never be the finger
that pressed the wrong button.
TIME OF WHISPERS
Between echoes of forgotten
laughter and unseen spaces,
I feel the ticking seconds,
where memories linger
in the quiet places.
In an old photograph,
blurred by touch,
your essence remains,
as a trace of existence,
fading into the known.
Unspoken conversations
of suspended words,
silent in the air like mist,
taste of what could have been,
now the fabric has gone.
SAY NO TO TOMORROW
Sands of reminiscent footprints on
traversed paths, gather together moments
stitched in nostalgia, while reality converges
with transient tapestry recollections of creating.
Hands of experience and shadows, cast
changes, chances, choices and ghosts
of imprints, painted with days bygone
on the flattered murals.
Covert prisms reverberating with aspirations,
serenade birds with accordion melodies,
while their metallic spines juggle
star formations as the dusk captivates.
Melancholic larvae know more about this than
anyone, and have mentioned it many
times, as Medusa swirls around them as if
spatial dimensions were not the only problem.
Say no to tomorrow, until the the past is once again.
SELL YOUR TERRITORIES
Silent chamber
echoes can
be heard
when introspection
glides through
secret corridors
of whispers.
You stand
on your
untrodden territories
facing the
map of
existence uncharted
from a
compass point.
Sell your
territories to
those yearning
for cryptic
melodies of
depths and
let them
sing the
lullabies of
vagabond echoes.