
Young Man
to Old Tree
gimme shelter
from the rain
and gloom
on this misty grey loathsome day.

I leak words
into a notebook
at dawn
when I wake
I use a fine pen
one that glides
births words
onto paper
soundless
boundless
unread.

I awaken to fog
birdsong soothing blindness
om mani padme hum
sings my sanctuary bum
but three monsters
menace beyond my dreams
yeah yeah yeah
Every one of us
older than you
now
still standing by
muted choir mouthing
your Imagine
awaiting
some visionary
one who knows
Peace.

Instability?
even ghosts stagger
in spotlight.
Leave us then
fluttering amid branches
between
hushed windlifts
of trees still standing.

Moments unexpected
quiet ones
more stir than startle
a breath or blink
a between.
Pause mid-step—
my Elixir.
Small houses
in sunlight
covered windows
secrets within
quiet
beckoning
cool whisper
invitation
to step
in.

Oh fey darkness
dissonant creep
whispering slurred
choruses
disturbing my sleep
misshapen dream
fade
to colourless
so jagged so
deep.
Why do you
sit quiet mornings
places where
no light
seeps in?
I reflect
pay homage
dream hope
to inhale one elusive
drop of stillness.


Oh rather
live in a time
where Art informed
where Music inspired
where Poets instructed
gunless armies
two-stepping in fields
of Word Power.
Pencil on paper. Images arise. Message received.