independence day

When I were out walking but a few days ago
I met a man from the east side, a genius don't you know
he smiled through teeth of anguish, chess pieces on his brain
intense blackened eyes, like his king queen bishop insane.
When I were out walking on the pier of New York
I met a man selling shell fish, fresh from the east side of the coast
his head was all grizzled. gnarled with knowledge and age
he talked of wars and sacrifices, he was a seaman of sage.
When I were out walking on the coast of Delaware Bay
I smelt the essence of history upon a cockle shop day
passing octogenarian couples, white haired commitments delight
not forgetting the immigrants, recalling the fights.
When I were out walking, but a few days ago
a red lobster, face scaring the children as I go
the bottle of booze, wrapped in brown paper
this hobo a travelling, in the midst of the later.
I sat on the east coast, having made it by rail from the west
just a skinny old man dressed in slacks and a vest
seeking others just like me, a family I never did know
the calling of ancestry, that allowed me to delve oh so low.
When I were out walking I stumbled and fell
in the high tide of the east coast, no more time for this drunkard to dwell
I am here for a reason, to wash all the pain away
salt water of the east side, it is the end of my day

The English countryside

A sensual being
rides the mist over heather
with purple days and pollen nights
the skies, transformed
a mix of hell weeping green ghosts
night owls and bat seeks
unshaven angles of mountainsides
hills and meadows divided high
cut with walls
appals my mind
for this, the English countryside.
I hover over a canvass
with oil dripping from trays
my hand is a spectrum tattooed
with colours of the evening
serene, the scene
I try to cultivate like the plants
laugh, like Sylvia Plath could not
who are you black shoe,
I am but the eye
for this, the English countryside.
Rub my knuckles in the dirt
and wash upon the white
mix the trouble, of the skies setting
the oils and water from natural springs
birds and underground voles
moles, squeaks and sings
they must of course bow
with baton in paws
and confide
to the orchestra
for this, the English countryside.
I fell asleep on downs of spring like
encased in leaves all brown and hue
inspired by autumn,spring and summer
winter dreams the gales blew through
yet still I painted this mercy of trouble
to mount one day in a hall applied
be framed for all to look upon
this, for all to stand in awe
our grandeur
English
countryside.

the naivete of childhood

Like a flower growing tentatively towards the rising sun ever upwards craving heat and light, to store when day is done
 believing life is all forgiving, that you're protected until the end that no one is your enemy, every person is your friend
. The naivete of childhood is a hidden paradise, yet innocence is shattered as perceptions grow precise
 you here the hurtful comments and the angers deep inside you feel the heartache and depressions that life had tried to hide
 You build up all your defences, to cope with the attacks the instincts you once harbored, sharpen, not relax
. The naivete of childhood seems a million miles away you are growing older and wiser every passing day
. Time is what you make of it, people are perceived. situations are controllable you grow sensitive to the need
. Develop new emotions, you never knew you had. encourage your sensations nurture good from bad
 the naivete of childhood can develop once again but this time there is no innocence no rose tinted world of pain.
 You know of all the evil things, therefor just be aware
 look out for their arrival, so you may face them you'll be there.
 The world can feel so heavy, balanced on your back
 so share the weight with others, divide the heavy stack.
 Children are naive for they know no other way, but you have seen the shadowed lands the unlit part of day.
 Innocence is a priceless thing,
 that we all lose in the end
 yet the flower will keep on growing and the sun is still your friend.

we strive to hunt the midget a qweeble by another name
furry and intense its eyelids inver

I forgot myself in the wilderness
the trees barking through a trunk i did not recognise
with a sunset high amongst a wasp nest
communal breathing through pipes smoking.
Hoping, that the yester decade inhales

Damned to Drown

Oh how long I have waited to feel your touch
hour on hour, decade upon decade
the cake layer of time
marked on the cerebral cell walls

The gnashing of teeth, calcium crumbling
into the chasms of the mouth
clenched, as is the rodeo riders buttocks
a migrane little more than seconds away

Stomach lurching like a galley on acid seas
tears of the captain forced to cry
a flag, flailing, falling and failing,adversity writhing
sinking into the oceon of depression,
be damned to drown.