Category Archives: Poetry and song

Black box recorders

I draw a line in this sand
The heavens open
Washing away her plans
The castles she would  build out of sand

The stones she throws in her glass house
The girl who cried wolf
Who was chased from these green and pleasant
lands

The wind howls to night
The gods scream and fight
And might turn up knocking on that door
But there will be no answer anymore.

I washed away all my sins
Throw away her none
Precious things
A ring so bright and red
Forged in the earth

Her Mirrors cracked again
My ripped to tattered shreds
A new emperor can be found
To walk these lands as I leave
For hills the forests call me now

I’m forging forgiveness

The wind howls to night
The gods scream and shout
And might turn up knocking on that door
But there will be no answer anymore.

The calculus celery celsius poster boy for a sun dance decade

they raised the draw bridge up

its a cowboy western gone wrong

the old directors dead

now Billy goat gruff wants credit

For another mans showreel

the poster boys come to life

jumping from the hoardings  by the trains left to be stripped

like carcuses

the callous hands of an angry man

she dances a decade away with the glitter ball parade

the mind is a miraculous thing tempered by

the swift birds flying in unison on a breeze

the old country cottage

the swallows

the remains of this long held fear of empty nest syndrome

that brought her to her knees

if only time or these seasons could stand still

the egg sand timer filled with multi directional grains

of yellows pinks and greens

the pause for the whistle for a minutes silence

probably not respected anymore than a headstone

in that cemetery the magic markers dividing a cross country

the old distances as of yet made metric

This is a marathon the Greeks have a pantheon

there are just crows fighting here over the scarecrows

tattered ripped up oiled jeans of a mechanic

his jacket ripped his hat twisted the top popped open for

cuckoos nest

the Dance that they had,

the rings left in a old pint glass whilst doing the  washing up

the toast now burning like incendiary  fireworks

the sun going down the clouds fickle like nature

the nurture instinct only reeled  out for the old tv shows

those lines in the field those cross hares fighting in parallel field

This Unison, the mistakes, the empty sorrow

the same tired worn out excuses the remorse of the morrow

the letters of last week stacked waiting for response

the in out tray left for another day

rise and shine sleepy heads