Shadows. Poem.jpg

Move into the space

of now

Not forward nor back

Just be

surrounded as it should be

reduced by the heat

of this thought

to an essence

of that being that knows

all about shapes

My own competing for bliss

in lines sculpted by the sun

and given an approximate shape

against complicit surfaces

Rumours almost of what is here

in this tenuous moment

when I am gathered in the shallows

waiting for the rumours to end.

Sweet things


Sweet things

Sweet things

That white enclosing space

An infinity of shelter

A blind default

Will sometimes mock me

Make faces

When I am inert


But, forced ink

Makes a stain

And issues to reason

On the unthinkable blankness

That a naked page offers

In all its’ purity


Somehow stretched sinews

Inveigle the tangled thoughts

To draw shapes

That other minds may interpret

And, so, striking a languorous pose

Assume the sweet essence as their own