And some things that should not have been forgotten, were lost...

Pull out a memory from a sleeping bag;
It was no great divinity, only infinity,
But those lesser in mind and heart pursued
Its closeting, to bring
The walls of life closer together -
Don't remember, they cry,
Forget the past and what it has given you.
Yet all great victories and triumphs are found
In the remembrance of the strength and courage discovered;
Inner immortals embrace their history,
That they may live to fight another day,
And yet another indifference to the deeds of their time.
All warriors know their roads.
It is the battles of others we stop to fight along the way.

Pathos of the Inner Child

I could go and run in a field of green
Or climb an ancient tree.
Find life beneath a muddy rock
Or guppies in a stream.
I could fly a kite, or build a fort,
With soldiers made of sticks,
I could sing out loud of grasshoppers
While to the park I skip.
But no, I seek the darkened corners
Of my little house
With my wireless keyboard,
And my wireless little mouse......

Under The Moon

Blessed and holy orb, you shine silver light onto my table,
And as I am able,
I give thanks for your magic, the transmutation
Of Darkness into Life.
And at your fullest, when you ride high in the night,
And the gravity of your girth assails the earth,
I am your sacred lunatic.

Now if I could only find a way out of this padded room....

Such dilemmas we face....

What magical mystery tour is this?
An essential entity of my existence
Has vanished from my perceptual experience,
And woe, I cannot divine its molecular and particulate presence....
dammit, where's my other sock?

Blood, Sweat and Tears

Rythym pounds and the drums afflict the senses,
Cold darkncss pierced by shattering light
That roams the gloom, instills the motion
The motivations, the stimulations,
And blood burns in the veins.
Each soulful pain is brought to bear,
The force of the battle brought to the field of play,
And sweat springs forth upon the brow,
To drench the hair, blind the eyes,
Each stamping foot, each zero
Described by whirling limbs,
A passion born of the need to purge burdens,
Transform woes and
Remain undefeated....
And tears of joy are shed in the broken moments,
As the war on the dancefloor is won.

Ode to my Pencil

Oh pencil, my pencil, how thou enthrall me,

When weakened by fear and doubt, thou art my lance, my wand, my sword -

From thee, the many magics of worlds unseen spring forth within my hand,

And the doors and gates open,

The majesty of the universe abounds,

And in shades of grey, colours of the rainbow, and all nature's gifts,

We two are ensconced in the holiest communion.

Oh pencil, thou art my greatest ally -

For without thee, my life would be a sad and lonely place,

Mournful, and apathetic, that life should be so disgracefully displaced

By a ballpoint pen.

It's all about cows.....

To stand in the backyard, on a clear starry night, fresh air filling your lungs..... and then, from some unknown corner of the darkness, a god-awful groaning rends the air as if the very earth is ripping apart from the inside out - your hair stands up on end and you start asking yourself if you should call emergency services, start peering warily into the night while involuntarily calling up every horror film you have ever seen, wondering if you are about to be attacked by zombies, some alien monster or perhaps a cyborg warrior from the future - and irrationally begin looking over your shoulder because the victim always gets it from behind, when finally.....

You are informed that it's mating season for the cows and what you are listening to is the bovine music of love.

Cows making love in the moonlight.