Tag Archives: poets

Caged Birds and Flowers

Flowers fade

bee lay to rest its days of care

fox slips into dreamless sleep unseen

even the song must cease

– that song the caged bird sings

and yet

Breath comes in

Breath goes out

strength renewing

for I drink in the air

you breath – last, new, and still

your fear is mine

your courage is mine
mine is yours as well.

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Eavesdrop

Eavesdrop on my thoughts –

I shall draw up every contour of dream

every last hope and bursting seam of life

onto a page

I shall drip blood like ink upon the shadows

feed the fears a little, let time run backwards

so you may share with me, in me, of me

partake of what you like

even if we never feast

together

For the want of it

For the want of it – you spit
for the taste of it – you spit
for the gain, drain, fame of it – you spit
for the spot, the light, the silver coated mic – you spit
for the shock of it – you spit
for the hurt of it – you spit
for the heal, feel, drill of it – you spit
for the stage, the fright, the blaze mastered fight – you spit
but do you spit – for the real of it
do you spit – for the meal of it
do you spit – for the reach down into your soul and
deal with it
do you spit – with reason, season, wisdom and seed
do you spit – with fortune or greed
don’t tell me – tell it to your reflection
get it write and sell perfection
for the want of it
spit.

Last Night in Dublin

((From 2000))

The brilliance of the night
Echos out over the street
smoke filled conversations
linger in my eyes
passing shadows mix in the mind
of a day filled with moments of joy

Faces filled with laughter
and a seriousness of fate
dance across the room
Partners of a sip of wine
and the taste of consequence

When the melody of the day

When the melody of the day has laid out in gray

contemplation of eager manipulation

and trembling trepidation,

pause, breathe deep.

Close your eyes and feel the world

without care,

slip past unkindness unhindered,

pass by the wails of failure and

the fear of frustration,

into the depths of a place only

poets dare to go… and know.

Today is just a day.

It tripped,

it stumbled,

crumbled

and fell flat,

but at the end, it is…

just that… past.

Now, is where you are.

And where you are – is beautiful.