Do you ever stop to think
maybe there is no more room to grow?
we’re made small by this incessant need
always on the go
nothing is valued unless it can be sold
when we’re renting air
I won’t tell you what I told
We should be scared
but tomorrow’s tomorrow’s are too far to care
meditation teaches us to live in the moment
but the future is for sale
in a ruin of our own creation.
So I’ll take this breath now – glad it’s not tomorrow.
poet
Poetry off the cuff: Ripples
We threw ripples on the lake
skimming stones
a reflection
how we crest and flow
a surge before the fold
a rush before the pull
a swell and then a break
all these mistakes
and successes we take
a slowing of the pace
before rushing up again
Poetry off the cuff: It was a blast
It was a blast
chasing the highs
careening around corners
watching the damselfly’s ride our slipstreams
Little beetles, hitchhikers on our shoulders
each riding on the energy of each other
Poetry off the cuff: We forgot the sun returns to us, eventually.
The red glow of cigarettes Marked the sunrise
the sun pulled up last night’s rain Into a mist
we tried to mimic the weeds
the way they swayed to the breeze yet held strong
Rooted to place.
Then came the arrival of goodbyes
among the songbirds
singing greetings.
we had whiled away the hours
till we had no skin in this play
bored and hollowed from each other
We could never be like the weeds
we chased the sun too much Instead of sitting in place.
Poetry off the cuff: The Grind
I always watch their teeth the news anchors, standing beside a ruin and wonder what they last bit into as the TV screen eats me up into the bad news that grinds my brain to mush
Poetry off the cuff: A self-portrait
I like to write short
and to the point
come to think of it
that makes my writing a mirror image
of my short-arsed self.
Poetry off the cuff: Three things are certain in this life; Death, taxes and anxieties.
Death will blow my breath away
one day
Sooner than most
so they say
But
Perhaps a fascist takeover
will kill me
‘fore my heart wins out
and pulls me to the ground
Ash
Your spirits splash
As ash
Washed away by the rain
After rings of smoke
From your lips
Forget their origins
And the stories
that once radiated
Through your limbs
Have snapped
Broken into orchards of bones
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