the thought of six keys

Always with the first snow
come those moments of reflection,
of contemplating the future, a surrender
to maudlin thoughts of the past,
nostalgia swept along by tiny
flakes, a desire to shake them off
as the snow melts when you walk into
a warm room.

Still devoid of reality,
still strongly rooted in a fantasy
played out on a reed-pipe.

The verbose wind chooses sudden moments
to let thoughts trickle into the world
and before you hear your shoe crunch,
the wind picks up once more.

of colours and atoms

A shimmer that floats over the world,
a slithering sliver of silent lights moves across the ground
and leads my mind and my eyes
towards the swaying trees, silhouetted against
a sky of seven shades of purple till
a red burns bright from without
burning trees, shooting stars
silver bullets blazing across the skies
the guitar strums orange and the greens
caress my lazing limbs while
a pantomime plays itself out amongst the steeples of porcelain
from exotic lands,
the little boy watches the trees bend down and take his hand
into its own. Watches the trees speak to the sky,
the squirrels appear in droves,
three for every one that was.
The artist paints a horizon of magenta and gold
and the sleepers miss out on a final glimpse of wonder
and awe. I take a breath, roll a cigarette, let the air
become part of my arms and the peace I’ve been searching for
wishappears.

earth

on the park bench

the world unfurling its wondrous

colours all around, the notes of despair

mix with the screams of joy while

lust awakens the worst

nightmares of children lost in a haze of alcohol and misery

the trees watch quietly, dancing with the wind,

moving to the rhythm of the world

hidden deep within the slightest murmur

is a ripple amongst the floating bodies all around

the fires burn bright in the distance

the earth bears each footstep with patience

over and over

no wanderer stops to look and trees watch on

a million lives within each leaf all calling out to them all

each life asking to be spoken to

amidst emptiness, under a shower of silver bullets

the world becomes one and we exist as a whole