Paltry Antidotes

As if, discovered slightly crooked, within its place, an apprehension.

Eggshells in false forests

children milling about unharmed by squatters,

resin ovals hung on limbs yet to be formed,


crosses piercing the soggy bottom turf, of what used to be.

With this dust, resolutions fade, speck by contemplative speck.

Sometimes I am pushed, stubbornly, to loose sight of…auld lang syne

Sometimes blanketed by here and there…

Often I awaken to missing a mother’s guiding a hand…

a gesture of charity, debilitated or reflectively sublime.

Once upon a village, swaddled in quilts of yesteryear…

Once an angel with spurs

A voice only the living could hear.

Soon to be a blackout doused by fabricated flowers.

A small holiday growing smaller…as the future appears.

Complete, paltry entombed antidotes…consigned by my greatest fear.

Each one an affection for weariness

an invisible affliction

all among the petunias that had crimsoned your cheeks…so near.




Another Brick in the Wall

Carelessness rains down upon me, such as, beads of sweat.

Memories cease, then seize…canterbury 5

Perhaps the pensive season is not done with me yet.

No matter how high my wall…a manicured finger repels the distance…

placing on guards…on stall.

‘How did I get to this place?”  I ask.

It is a point of phrase…given from the easiness of my high chair.

All is asunder…as I watch another brick begin to fall.

I ask again, and…again…

‘How did I get to this place?  how did I become so un-evolved?’

Breaching the Despair

in the contrast,  so much lurking here and there…the life is despair.

a classic contradiction…aperture and attrition.

within the light…

the conjecture…

the subject matter…

moving on can get the better of me.

tucked away in the drawer of great abyss.

where I keep keepsakes…

memories, photographs, contrition…

life remains so open…

it is hidden.

Breaking Waters

Fresh water sea gathered around at my knees and feet.

Would the memory fade?

The gentle bear at the edge of a neon street?

The aggressive wallflower that would not give up her nylon seat?

Water, secretly breaking?

May, December, lovers on retreat?

My scattered thoughts…

Re-learning how to ebb, flow and sway?

Watching used to be pilgrims bob in and out of a rainbow bay?

There is a renewed ambiance to my heart.

No matter, how sparse the spark.

A kinship for broken brick streets.

Straight but not narrow with conceit.

Quiet is the comfort with being seated near dark pastels of an ocean at night.

By dawn, a mostly faded memory and I, will move on.


I will grasp hold to the feeling of release.

Such as, holding onto someone with a too tight grip.

Knowing tomorrow they will elude my fingertips.



Sketchy Indulgence

Restraint by a shaft of evidence.


Not conclusive to ideals.

A melancholy orange…peeled.

Is it  vanity that brings me here?

For every indulgence that tells me, no.

For all the voices that fill an empty village and clutter the soul.

In the belly below a need arises from reflective window.

Such visions of clarity when I ‘cannot see myself as others do.’

Just snippets of what I used to do.

Sketched among the floundering breeze.

Simple recollections not made to appease.