Selection from Spring Poetry 2015


Soft dust floats
lazy warm hazy
Sunshine –unbearably sweet!
One’s will do to anything

All soft yellow butter
smooth, rich
golden golden golden
That dust!
Soft, floating
Coating the world in its powdery preservative
Maintaining the Golden
Honey glazed pavement, amber flamenco
Tanned faces, chocolate gazes
And that slow slowww seepage
Time – (the enemy, finally less hostile)
Oozing in a full full fashion through streets,
Still golden, golden, golden
from siestas and salsas and sangria
Dust calmly settled
Over your tongue so it becomes heavy, Sleepy
Ancient dust – old
made of golden years past
that have been ground up and breathed out

How painful!
Not even this
Satisfies the hunger
Insatiable greed
Consuming the golden dust
Growling for more


The stories that the dust could tell of red dances with fire…
But, not today
Today’s passion is not white hot
It is soft – warm
It is powered sugar sand
And golden golden  golden

Attempting to be Artsy

Splintering the woodwork of inner veins and emotions

Knife-work making short-work of nerves

Tink-a-link chimes and pretty whispers of white
The space between thoughts and sounds
Large enough to hold everything


Flicker flame of wax warriors softening souls

Licking heaviness by the spoonful to satiety
Glowing brass gleaming in dark liquid shadows and you just

May have to languor some more

Amid the smothering softness coating your uncomfortable self


Gasping under a pummeling waterfall, never ceasing its suffocation

Sprint headlong into that red fury, and scream at how bad it hurts
So. Good.

Fallen and you can’t get up
Flying and you can’t land
On fire and you can’t quench

My own personal preference has always been for the still quiet pools
And always, always, vanilla over chocolate

Violet. Magenta. Turquoise.

The taste of colors is the sweetest,
Though they lack the mouthfeel of actions.

Going Down

With glamorous dusk colours
Of sunset and myrtle and dathered pinks
And the lipid air hangs and brews and sinks
Sweet sticky licking the inner softs of the ears
As your toes puddle and melt and you blink
Alarms distant soft yawning,
The core of the question flickers around back
With birds overheard spittle singing soft tracks
They’ll go On,
and you stay Here
Cause your toes are all sunken,
your slurred words unclear
The beauty gets hazy now,
And the violent quiet instills Fear
Thickening rays blast into you holes
And the dark doubt dribbles in droves
Knocking your dead pooled hollows with a cane
“Ladies and gentlemen, tomorrow’s forecast: rain”
A little brew of disgust dappled poignant with pain
Muffled nearby patterings of innocent bystanders
Noses pressed deep to the skins of their planners
The grass, emerald stainstemmed,
laughs lusty and pure
Untouched sandstone croppings,
calmly demure
Sugar moisture continues to scathingly seduce
Inside you are crumbling, your soul is reduced
And it flexes and stretches its paws, flicks its tail
Lightly lands on its feet and lifts its sail
Your desolation completed, the myrtle departs
To find new victims, and murder more hearts


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