Rugged

weaving on which we tread
bare footed, we appear,
interpolated fabric
from our innocent there to here

writing what we read
segment after segment
with colour we feed
a suture of divergencys
from fragment


..

Finder

My worst fear
is to be found
unworthy,
undesirable
or –able

A fleeting memory
to those who
mean more to me
than to themselves

I paste myself
in silent spaces,
inconspicuously
and pretend to not care

All the while,
desperately folding,
slowly moulding
a single thought
at a time,
here and there

and PAUSE …

where time stands still
… watch that dandelion moment …
reflecting fragilely
many alternate directions

It seems that no one’s trading places anymore,
uncertain where its fickleness will lead?

The sheer need,
to feel that wind
No fear of flying
A shame, I know
And gravitating underground
thát full of hope
Spreading wings until …

-you see-

there is reason enough to call for it:

Architecting Eternity


..

Identified

the sun slowly finds its way
above the field
on this late-winter morning

there is that opposite
when darkness drifts away

hear it in the song
the first birds start to listen
for its silence
before the (inevitable) call

brume rises above the lake
surrounding the island in thought

and careful names
take off into the sky;
trial tastes
for something
they have never seen

a nervous shivering ground
fed by the rumble deep below the surface
predicts that maybe today …. this hour?
if not, this week … this month, surely!
it will show the face belonging

eagerly waiting
for unavoidable change
these are the waves
sinuating through the veil
on not just any turf,

but ours


..

Substance

your words still mark my skin
where you held me close

underneath new layers of protection
they continue to sink in

a dialectic process
impossible to stop;

the reasonable merger will win

but still, I wonder
why distinction fails

and simultaneously aim for the centre
of what then must be
a burlesque culmination

and reach the paradigm shift

who knew the odds
that while inherent aversion
was all we had

we came to face
a dialogical knit equation


..

Next year ll

Next year, maybe next year
it'll all be back on line

Somewhat wiser over night
less the fighter without sight

Next year, maybe next year...
you won't take it back


..

Next year

Next year, maybe next year
it'll all be back on line

Somewhat wiser over night
less the fighter without sight

Next year, maybe next year...
you won't take it back


..

Seamless

Rules and regulations state
it takes lots of space
to fly

Hearing in rewind
you take chances
to realise what you’ve got
and leap into the sky,
forcing liberation
to clear the mind

and that is where you find
… it not

But when every open door is closed
there is we, face to face,
clinging to the soundless
confinement
of our subconscious space

A merging of thoughts
beneath the surface
of this troubled sea

Such an unsuspected precision
resonating
bound and free


..

Dividend in diffidence

It is a careful process,
slowly sinking in;
a wave of conscience setting sail,
and no opposing argument
to resist the track
of this reasoning’s trail

As oscillating comfort goes,
safely washed ashore,
it’s a deceptional effort
-this accomplishment-
that leaves you slumbering
for more

Is now the time to realize,
a better swimmer
would’ve known the cost?
That with the tug
of undertow's e-motion,
it is courage I have lost


..

Tie

your intention was not to hurt me
I am now sure of that

impetus decline was already steep
before you caught on

over the rim beneath the waterline, I fell
while once -still sure- on shore we sat

wrapped now in your soothing arms
your lips whisper a mantra in rhyme

take my breath away
and fill me up with light

… but I can never find myself
when I find myself
in darkness

adjusting to drowning

and I wake up

in the middle of the night


..

Travelling

What ever happened here
must have happened while in sleep

A dream fragment slowly travelling
on dissipating currents

Sounds that were revealed,
(hear them) re-deform their static

Clear impressions suddenly flap
their beautiful wings
like ghosts of thought

Soon it'll all be forgotten, and gone

Prove of your existence
will no longer be needed
neither missed

But what I always wonder, is,
that nibbling voice inside
your ever inquiring mind,

what would have happened if you knew,
that when the dial broke,
it was Time, you watched run out


..