Had we but world enough, and time,

(And all was fair in love and war,)

To read the mariner's ancient rime,

And know what stout Cortez first saw,

Perhaps then we would understand

What Sophocles heard upon the dark Aegean;

And how Agamemnon felt.

Or when, on Dover's cobbled beach

Arnold had his nation knelt

In a moment's soul's reflection.

Plath ate her men like air.

Tantalus served the gods his son.

But to dine with literary kings and queens,

And share their feast, is an honor I've yet won.

Mid-Summer Dance

The next time you go running in circles daydreaming, take me with you.

Round and round and round and round

Until the sky clears, clouds disperse on the ocean,

Dancing.

On unswept autumn leaves.

On a hillside with the heavens open - soaking you to the skin.

A field of long grass in morning mist, of corn at sunset.

Flowers in your hair, linen round your shoulders, round your waist,

Freckles swimming in flushed cheeks, auburn hair

Whipping round your face. Smiling, laughing,

Round and round you race, chasing down your dreams,

Leaving normality behind. Up you soar

To dizzying heights,

Forgetting sleep on summer nights.

Tired.

You write. The table moves rhythmically.

Sip hot chocolate. Pages scattered.

A candle burns, shadows flicker across

Your face. Concentrate.

Inky blue fingers, bic lighters. Lucky Strikes.

You are studious. Hands in sleeves.

Rosy lips, hidden behind your shawl.

Velvet jacket. Passionate.

Your hand writing is bold, round

Friendly but forceful - excited or in a hurry?

You tear pages apart. Swear, and write on.

The only blank page is your face.

You write with your eyes.

Expression impossible to detect.

What do you think?

I want to know you. How will this end?

I will learn how to read you.

Know you. Second guess you.

Where will you be? I hope.

Fingers crossed.

To be scared, terrified of repetition.

Rehabilitation.

Finally I am tired. You have worn me out.

Mind Body and Soul.

Wonderful exhaustion.

But your presence keeps me awake.

Short sighs - of love ( I hope )

Just audible over your pen scratching doggedly.

Sleeves on paper edges. Leaves rustling. Sandpaper.

Kiss me again Ridiculous Girl. You pause,

Stroke my hair - an eternity of navy blues,

Greys and strawberry cheeks.

Paint in my hair. Sugar at the bottom of my cup.

I miss you, though you sit in front of me.

Bushfire Season

My feet sweat, my shoulders burn

But I am indifferent.

Nature plays around me.

Close your eyes. The last thing you see

is a white butterfly dance past the tree-line

into oblivion blue.

Bush leaves crackle above you in branches

and below you, let loose through brittle grass.

A light wind conducts a symphony in which

Each shrub plays a part.

Each dry branch, kindling ready to explode,

Itching to snap its dangerously perfect note.

Thorns whistle sharply - reeds hiss and hum.

Every breeze is a clown, taking up instruments

And jostling melodies to play all at once.

The grass rushes to its queue, dry as a bone.

Leaves follow behind in vague harmonies.

I wait on the edge of an eventful storm.

The sky is blue.

A storm of events - something big,

Behind the horizon, behind the mirage.

A rhino.

A microlite .

Electric fences, purring.

A wan nation celebrates, then groans behind the hills.

Natures orchestra sings to no one in particular

To T. (Part I.)

A lyrical scarf to warm your throat,

And stay up with you on cold winter nights.

- Keeps you going, keeps you sweet,

Alive and merry.

Relieves you, revives you, releases a smile.

Complimenting the stars, the moon.

And tobacco on your lips.

Or Sunrise, early showers, soapy skin

- Waiting in the morning to greet you gently.

Takes you to bed, where it keeps your body warm.

Snug –

While lavender soothes the little of your being it cannot.

Reflecting emotion. Moods.

Mild, sweet, milky.

Bitter, dark, hot.

Black or white.

Satisfying the palette.

Settling your stomach,

Quenching a dry mouth.

Hospitable. Welcoming. Kind.

An Icebreaker.

An offering.

Pulling down barriers.

Instructing courage, calming fear –

Spiders in life’s web,

Guard dogs in foreign countries,

And smoky kitchens are overcome.

- Strength, heart and peace of mind rebuilt.

Stirs thought as a spoon stirs sugar –

Feeding a fire, a flame – billows to a weary mind,

Wind to lifeless sails. Perpetual motion.

Washing motivation into your soul

Somewhere between breakfast and lunch.

The afternoon’s unsuspecting catalyst.

Preserving optimism.

A fifth hope. Tshepo.

Encouraging self-erudition. Articulation.

Translating and unwinding complex language.

For two and a half minutes, the world is a simple place.

x

Trains, Games & Choices.

Girls wearing pearls & flexy morals round their necks,
Write cheques to boys in cars from soho bars.
They're wined & dinned - all the time,
Purring like cats, strike a match
Light a fag, have a drag.
They let the good times roll too far out of control,
Far too long ago. There is no hope.
Fur coats slope down shoulders -
We all grow older.

She wear's his scarf, just feels colder.
Down cobbled streets, under christmas lights,
on dark december nights,

the story strays & no music plays

they loose their way.

She stopped thinking & started drinking.
Decided to come home
When she had that sinking feeling.
Should never have accepted

Whatever he was dealing.
Now the days are stagnant,
Oh, she might be pregnant -
Just wants to fly away, for a year & a day,
& never ever ever reach the end of her tether again.

The pain wasn't worth it.
She was told she'd regret it.
But listen she wouldn't,

And stay true she couldn't.
On a one way train too far down the line.

Well this my friend is the end of the line,

We're out of time.
Cut it some slack, she won't be back.
Let her lose, sing the blues.
Watch the news, who'd she choose?
She let the good times be, opted for revelry.
Ran before she walked.

Sang before she could talk herself out of the game.
Who's to blame, when it rains in the streets,
When Coppers hit the beat?

Oh, they'd weep for such girls & their pearls
'cos the world is their oyster
Yet they still loiter along cobbled lanes,

Past Soho lights on dark december nights.
Their story strays & no music plays.
They've lost their way.

The Black Wave

Back to a world of drudgery dearth and broken dreams,

Where a fatalistic sense of eternal loss

Washes in through the door of the classrooms I sit in.

Back to the futile sham that mocks humanity

And the selfishness that engulfs all around,

Touching us all in different ways.

An angry black and bitter wave waiting to drown us all.

Three hours of nothingness,

Lost to the past,

Contemplating what is required

For this machine I live inside.