Dust

Motes float
in the light of an overheated room
Straw broom
sweeps detritus through broad cracks between boards
Too few words
dusted coconut over a clinical goodbye
Empty blue eyes

This is not dust
Not some stupid crush
A water colour the Sun will fade
This is not dust
It will not rust
It does not float or blow away

Don't know what I missed
Why I was dismissed
Handed my hat
and shown the door
No explanation provided
Of why you decided
I am not worth the effort no more

You say you want something
For me it's all or nothing
The dust that you raised
Fills my throat and my eyes
Look into the gloom
I stand at the centre of the room
Raising my head 
and my hand and
Waving goodbye

Hypnosis

To dream without sleep
A voice lights the path within
A tramp approaches

The Flow

A warm, errant wind rattles the chimes

The bush is coming to life, Spring's on the rise

The Sun whispers gently to petal and leaves
Bees laden with pollen hang in the breeze

I sit in the warmth and doze in the Sun

I dream of the things my life has become

I close my eyes and open my mind

I create a vision, leave illusion behind

Love flows through my being and cascades over my soul

Its path and its purpose are beyond my control

Love moves through me and in me, I delight and I yearn

A spoonful is given, an ocean returns

I watch new life blooming and hear nature's song

These truths I am feeling I know are not wrong

I set the rail of my board and leave all else to chance

Ride the perfect wave of life's most beautiful dance

No Retreat

No stilling the wind
Or turning the tide
I've torn open my heart
And let the love ride

I hear a tap on my window
Someone seeks sanctuary
There's no retreating with honour
This is meant to be

It seems so fucked up but
It is meant to be

Poet

Clouded eye
Gnarled, trembling hand
Poised over poisoned paper
Collections of words
Twisted to purpose
Philosophies
Bent and dented

Did her
blonde mane frame
her cherubic face
as you struck away
the small hands raised
in expectation
of a father's
affection?

Daddy ...

In archaic style
oozing cold piety
the painful prose is
dragged screaming
and squirming
onto pages and
pressed dry

Did she
shy from
the threat of your hand
withstanding more
than you thought
she dare withstand?
This child
This wee one?

Reverend ...

Night sweats soil
foul grey sheets
ink which stains
black cracked nails
washes over
life lived
too long

Did you
find solace
in what you tore
from her?
Hold aloft the sacred sacrifice
it shines before your greedy eyes
scribbler, perhaps scribe
But never...

Poet