And The Quiet

400,000 watt ear splitting decibels in the bursting pointed up close fireworks shuttle launch. All the dogs  a’ barking with a round and round dragster fire up that’s petrol chewing, gobblin’ and munchin’  the crunchin’ of number machines for filling up every wave in between a hundred underwater sonar miles from the loudest blue whale whistlin’.They crack a cataclysmic Krakatoa to your peace 

plane and sock it to ya -  largest richter epicentre quake and heartbeat with a twisted tongued Tunguska Meteor in malicious comet bits. And less and more to the children
in playgrounds, parks, people places… middle giggle and bird song afternoon 

walk time, near the salty crash course in ocean tide and

the evening shower drops from a real top

vapour dream. Soft voice, sweet

suckling on verse - music maker

and breathe of life

and in and out

and now and

quiet.

Cirro

Sometimes

there’s glaziers

Like Cirro,

who works on the corner

near our place  …

covered in broken panes

bits and pieces

or the carved

spider web

shatter and splinter

of one whole.

And they make

windows again,

re-makers

to the clear view…

like a way to see

out of hearts

again,

like a way

to remember

the world

is there,

like Cirro does,

who works on the corner

adjoining one to another…

like Cirro,

with windows,

beautiful windows,

that open

to the pop of

our bright, every morning.

Wearing the World of Begonia

We went to the base of a mountain
clung to the heart of a tree,
We looked in the windows for answers
we dined in a shape
of the sea.

We were found in the past
and the future,
lost in the wanting forever...
we danced in the now
and the nevertheless
beloved in folds of the feather.

Wearing the world of begonia
wearing the heart on the sleeve
we signalled the warnings
we rallied the grace
with justice and peace, our reprieve.

Now take a look up
and take a look down
look sideways
and round ways
and square,
for I will not leave
in my hurry up hats
for your hearts have
grown legs on the stair.

For your hearts in the flares
of our everywhere stairs
take us up, take us down
and around,
And through morning to night
in that in-between light
we are lost,
we are searching
and found.

The Citrine Gold

Rarest yellow
as if Rhine wine
was the toast to
Saturday's smiling
through raindrops
of an astronomical day!

The wish is
lucky seven - full of grace

and citrine gold...
all strong to
the knockabout scratch
of terrible trials
of tribulation's
tonic time...
all warm to the lemon, malted
marvel of her
and loved
alive again

for the inexplicable step
forwards
in you. xx