Terra Firma,
Terror Former,
Release your grip on me.
Tug of love,
What goes up comes down –
Stupid planet, can’t you see:
It’s fatal attraction,
A lethal action,
Loss of sight –
Can’t you see,
It’s fatal attraction
To keep us here,
Because we’ll destroy you
Through our fear?
Sinking feeling,
Stinking stealing –
Mother! We will abuse you;
The situation is grave –
Only one way to save
Gravity –

The wind in the branches cries your name,
You’re pretty as a picture, and I’m your frame;
Boldly I hold you, afraid to let go,
Afraid to ask, afraid you’ll say no;
So let this moment define our love,
No matter the signs from heaven above.
Our bodies are hopes and dreams in disguise,
Cast off this veil and open your eyes.

I’m a dream –
I’m the sand in the eye of the camel;
I’m a hope –
I’m the rich man vaulting the needle.

The wind dies down as I hold you tight,
I hold only bones and I cry in fright;
The skull that was you glares at me with hate,
My blood pounds like the hammers of fate;
Where are the dreams that you and I shared?
How do I know that you ever cared?
The grass beneath me withers and dies,
Our hopes and dreams turn out to be lies.

I’m a dream –
I’m the sand in the eye of the camel;
I’m a hope –
I’m the rich man vaulting the needle.

The branches above me stir once more,
I turn and look at the bones on the floor;
You sit there watching me, ready to flee:
Unsure of our love, unsure of me;
I try to comfort you, give you hope –
I know you need me to throw you a rope;
And yet you scramble out of the way,
Afraid of me and what I might say.

I’m a dream –
I’m the sand in the eye of the camel;
I’m a hope –
I’m the rich man vaulting the needle.

My vision comes true as you run in fright,
Faster and faster into the night;
I try to move, but I’m frozen in time,
Punishment paid, and love was the crime;
I close my eyes to shut out the pain,
The wind howls and I feel my life drain;
The picture is torn, the frame is cracked,
As are our hopes, our dream and our pact.

I’m a dream –
I’m the sand in the eye of the camel;
I’m a hope –
I’m the rich man vaulting the needle.

And the needle pierces my heart.

Poetry-The Angler

With watery eyes you study your soul
In the mirror of minds – many look, few see,
And fewer still accept that which is, which will be;
Instead they turn their empty windows, their dead coal
Ember eyes, to desolate landscapes – refusing
Knowledge and truth, living a superficial lie.
You, however, part the veil of quicksilver, try
Landing on strange soils beyond the mirror, confusing
As it may seem; experiences anew lead you
To a door marked “Do Not Enter” – disobedience can
Be rewarding, yet painful, and knowledge flows through
rivers, twin rivers, down your cheeks, and they span
Years of sorrow, fear, happiness, emotive forces few
And many – reward for bravery: life’s mystery’s clue.

You with your casting pole, I gladly embrace the barb
Between my lips – oh! Bitter-sweet pain, do not leave me,
For I, ensnared by you, wish not to be free –
The boundless oceans hold no greater pearls, nor can sun garb
Depths with greater sparkle. Even tidal powers
Are as nothing to the supple, invisible line
‘Twixt you and me; fight I may, but why? Better to resign
To my fate, relent to the tug of you, for freedom sours
In veins filled with fire, burning fire, not ice;
Angler, skilled angler, your allure is greater than you thought
May be possible, and I am bound, no matter the price:
Recklessly led by tensions of heart, not line – caught
And gladly so, for it brings me closer to thee, thrice
Talented – caster, catcher, keeper, whom so long I’ve sought.

The candle burns low, the night is old,
The poet smiles at his coconut palm,
Smiles at his coal-sack; finds a couple of psalm
In a book with gilt letters in gold –
“The World’s Prune Juice”. It leaves him cold,
And he shivers, with his water becalm-
-Ed. Oh! Oh! Oh! My eggs are dry, my arm
Is quiet and my leg is waiting – how bold
It waits and waits (for whom, no-one knows);
Except maybe the cleaner with a secret life,
Two sore feet and a broken nose,
A narrow mind with dentures for a wife.
And so the prune juice from the cup overspilleth,
The candle spits, gutters, shivers, passes and goes out.

Two blind sheep, drying in the rain
Saw two walkers, racing a train;
“Look”, said one, “See the men running?”
“No”, said the other, “I was only funning
When I said I could see.” The sheep walked
Off, with parting words – “We talked?
Sheep only bleat.” A bird swooped down,
Banked, glided, and made a fish drown:
“Gurgle, gurgle” was the fish’s last words;
“That’s why I prefer being of the birds”
Said said bird. The sun shone bright,
And gave an owl a fright –
“Don’t shine now” it seriously chided, “Dark
Is my ally – no matter how stark
It may seem. I catch my food,
Which is then carefully chewed
And swallowed.” A swallow heard this,
Thought something was strangely amiss,
For owls don’t talk during the day –
They curl up and sleep in the hay.
“Hey, man!” spake a cool calm crow,
“Don’t interrupt my one-man show.”
He proceeded to dance and sing
While gently flapping one wing.
The walkers looked at each other and smiled,
“Gee it’s good to be out in the wild.”

The trees sway in the wind of a mind’s making;
Can you see the imaginary branches shaking?
A forest of green, with life, abounds,
Till man races through with hunting hounds.
The idyllic silence shattered, the stag lays dead
All for some lord’s lust for a trophy head.

Like smoke drifting endlessly on a vast wave
Of air, life’s thin line twists and turns,
Searching for some great mutation to save
Itself from itself, to stop the torture, the burns
And scars of base emotions. Let lunatics rave

About a “Greater Good”, for they fool only fools,
And the line will one day break, only to throw
Some new specimen into the strong, stark pools
Of light that beckon, yet strangely repel, and show
All the scenes enacted have no rules

But for one: adapt, change, or stagnate and die.
So heed well the words of a true prophet who
Says not “stay with a good thing”, but “fly
On to new zones of experience”, for only through
Change can one grow strong and survive.

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