The Boy With The Glint In His Eyes

It’s the fantastic drowse of a Saturday mourning,

As it calls you to waken him.

Steeped in the road of a 10’o clock, but not for rock n roll.

Here in the skies of a military guise, a sad-eyed goodbye

I’ll recall.

Hazier dazes chase me, embrace me, bores

Me to smokier roads.

Hear the sounds arouse of a Messiah’s chords,

Lord above, she loves it.

And I never wanted to be anything more

Than a spectated chair blazing, rock gazing whore at Gibson’s feet.

Play for me, stay with me hear, and cheer from the groupies

Whooping in the air- care for me.

Yesterday moments I remember,

Bleak street, petite shrouds of a rock crowd,

Endowed. Three chords tell the truth in a drowse

Daze in thoughts of cheers, fears for the death of the sound.


However Much I Smoke

However much I smoke,

I still can’t find a way

To feel as I want to feel.

However much I drink,

I can’t stop the pains from coming in

And keeping me awake.

However much I dry my eyes,

Another tears arrives

And starts the pain again

However much I disappear,

There’s another man there

Who brings me back home.

However much I want to run,

I have to stop to catch myself

Before falling on old habits

The Weeping Violin

String eyed and blind, the stirs climb the notes,
Floats afront taught lot are crying,
Flying in the air, dying down,
Those notes write the sounds around.
Strings befall the ears cheersed,
Nearly falling, calling me away,
I’ll stray through the rooms
Doomed in temporal madness
The sadness beckon her.
If birth unearth me,
I’ll be free,
Feyfully play the notes.

Book Seller

Selling books, both Russian and English styled
Lies the way this lady wades the night sky
With wine, pretty eyed and finely stylised
She sits to wait, she sits to find
She reads the notes another customer
Ripped, tipped and sipped from the food
They refused to ordinarily eat.


That Killing Look

By starry sky we wandered,
And silently you kissed me,
A hallowed light inside you,
Battled worlds, out of key,
This childish guise I did wear,
A killing touch,
With such a rush,
Fate, interwined,
And divine,
You spoke so well,
You slept so well.
If truth could be an answer,
And riddles understood,
The good book written down,
Understanding rhymes and sounds,
That spell intwined,
A vos imaginé,
Bliss, blessed too,
the time it flew,
and me and you,
that night we flew,
Out of time,
A world divine.


A Wee White Flower

For Lizzie
A wee white flower flies flat in favoured feature,
Forested fragments of fine mountained fire,
Flies from the fair bare caves of handmade bareboned work,
Sidled and guided by ancestral hand.
Standing outward, wayward, countered change,
The pavements stand inside the hollowed wind,
A Wind that bellows blows a blue bright bell,
Barren black based berries bereave the bellowed
Wolfened shepherd who walks in sign.
Amazed, he says, he’ll never be,
In such profound humanity, away from all
Who walk the line,sanguine needed,
Seeded in pleases pleasures leisured down,
Around endowed, proud and sallowed hands,
Here he stands, provides the weight,
He waits, this is the great wayward place.


The Turn Of The Wheel

Everyone must have a choice when to use or not to use
The voice they gave themselves to speak and teach
Reaching for the hand they had to a God who did not
Understand that suffering meant value was their
Only way to floor themselves through the door
Of a fountain watered by tears.