Black ribbon

Black ribbon

needs driven

stockings and suspenders

it’s mad our endless drive

for sex

black rimmed specs

A sexually active secretary

bends into an awkward pose

one you have chose

to fore fill your fantasy

Baring all

her vulva a coin slot

waiting for an offering

her ass like a forbidden fruit

In which to shoot

Your shot

your seed

in a garden of need.

Occupied/possessed

I have been occupied

Like the sign on a toilet cubicle

I have been subjected to your ridicule

Your voice comes and goes

like the wind that blows

Maybe my heart was hollow

and needed to be possessed

but now I cannot rest.

Dreaming worlds that never were (spoken word poem)

Silence traps daydreams

energy burns

the multi verses yearn

worlds that never were

outstretch themselves in time

The universes machine purrs

and her soul pines

for her lover to set her free

she creates doors for just one key

she speaks through us all

just to speak to me

I seek answers but love is the only answer we need

but in this daydream my healed hand bleeds

and sometimes hurts

she is my reason my soul

I am the messenger of the monad the mind of heaven

the hour is late the end is all ready here

it’s time to let go of all our childish fear.

The woman with many faces

In the darkness and light of a daydream from a distant heaven. The woman with many faces but one soul. I have looked at legends and myths. She is a gift. To live many lives and still remember some of them is her curse.

I remember she woke my kaleidoscopic mind like in the song porcelain by Moby. A conversation between the two of us. Her timelines spread across mine. Her heart and soul a beacon for mine.

Giving me a reason for life and seeing beyond the illusion of separation. She has been living all the lives I see through the collective unconscious the Holy Spirit is a girl a woman a mother a sister a friend a lover and so much more. Life would be a mistake without her music. She speaks through the crowd words of wisdom that guide me.

I have been labelled schizophrenic but I can see her spirit in all things. The way the wind moves the trees leaves she is one who guides us all. Oneness is what I have found I am her protector I love her darkness her light some may say I have lost my mind. And all the unkind things but those people are blind.

Paper bomb

If we could read all the love letters

the poetry projected over the years

the ink would form the night

the words stars

the sun our intention to love

Would rise every time we wrote the words

the sky and birds

would scream we are alive

I would use the paper and poems we wrote

to drop from the sky

letters and prayers from us to god

to breach the void between us

The elation of creation

within our United Nations.

The Emergency Poet

The feel of the pen

on the paper

the poet grabs a verse.

the dripping of morphine

the flow of endorphins

flow of electronic lines

across the monitor

let’s hope we don’t flatline

this mere mortal

needs a portal to the stars

this mere mortal needs

defibrillation to the heart

the way the poetry forms

in the lungs and the mind

the way life needs beauty

is sometimes unkind

I am the blood transfusion

the illusion

of poems

bells chime

Electrons flow

Radioactive X-rays know

Poetry opens doors

I am the emergency poet

I will take flight

in flames

never shall I be tamed

But I will make that heart beat

and get you out of your seat

And on the road to recovery

and discovery

Because poetry heals

and steals back our songs

what could go wrong?

Exceptional

In the days when the exception they say

doesn’t need correction.

we are all creative

but some have it beaten out of us

at some stage

the war the exceptional person rages

is either to have their words heard

or to keep their creative side alive

and not have it brutalised or strangled

an Angel or messenger of light

has to fight to maintain their angle of light

and their perspective and sight.

Fire burns

Fire burns

turn the page before it burns away

cinders, words charred

Stars burn

Nuclear fusion

Life is fire or is that an illusion?

Love the unquenchable desire

to form flame

to gather that person’s many names

and love them all

Ashes to ashes dust to dust

The ash forms a tree

Yggdrasil the ash tree of life

Forming us anew

The flames that burn in me and you

Ugly

I wish I was so handsome I’d appear in GQ

but if I took off my clothes I’d face ridicule

I wish I my eyes were blue skies

I wish I set women’s hearts on fire

All I have are words

poetry

may trickle from my tongue like a tap

but I am not a male version of a honey trap

I may in some ways be wise

but people may want to keep their eyes closed

but I suppose every truth is like that when exposed.