Gifts

Gifts

Gifts

 

I live in beauty

I must

For squalid does for me

Closes me down and draws,

the curtains

on the envelope that is outside

 

I look for an essence of the infinite

In a caught moment

Then trap it in words

And celebrate

Because it all will pass by

In a lazy caravan of sighs

 

And so I sit

A recipient of bliss

Quiet with my gift

Not at all guilty

For I would share this

With anyone.

Cold Feet

Cold Feet

Cold Feet

 

Fear lurks about in shoddy garments

The apparel of shifty looks and snide remarks

And though I am no stranger in that domain

Today I would feign ignorance of dread

 

I have opened my eyes to a new day

This page is virgin territory

For thoughts pressed in the leaves of this book

Are rising. Are in a funny mood.

 

A slow crawl. A little jig. Open arms

I sense a smile, unbidden, spring,

about my face

What nonsense is this? A mutiny?

Dawn

DawnThe man who visits

A passing man

Who takes up a place

In a foreign space

And interjects with wisdom

He is conscience

A traveller with changing tales

Who fills spaces

In minds that are voids

And goes away chanting

Rumours of imagined things

That churn in the sleeping brain

And make little sense

Except that we carry his parcels

Through the day and into the dark

Inhabiting those spaces and places

That have been touched by druids

And other make-shift heroes

Flitting with their magic

And charms, restored from another world

To re-kindle slumbering guilt

From secrets half buried, half remembered

A litter of false ornaments

 

I am left in confusion again

At daybreak when hope should reign