Like a Projectile
I am moving
like a projectile
being remote controlled
to the stars, the sun, the light
only being buffetted… \...
5 December, 2015
For What I Am
Morning cold dampness, lying low over frozen soil Mother earth still, quiet in the icy clamb of winters claws the second month, when dark spirits are fought and scared with wooden masks this day, special, the day of Pan kissing sweetly his flute, calling for love to kindle the fires of fertility and nature, to arise from her drunken sleep to airbrush the bleak canvas with fragranced hues The whisper of time, blowing through the trees it touched your soul and my heart you, so gentle, fragile, and yet so strong you think you are not known but your spirit went in front for I knew you before I knew me for both we stood, in some time past the shallow pasture stream, softly flowing around our limbs, though our limbs and subtle, although sharp as a hunter’s knife and blunt as a caveman’s axe carving it’s way through my weathered bracken
I Am More Than
I am more than an employee I am more than a servant I am more than an image I am more than an engineer I am more than a thinker I am more than a husband I am more than a lover I am more than a father I am more than a man I am more than a human I am more than a spirt I am my self
I Am Not What I Am Not
I am not what I am not, And what is not is not what is not not For what is not may not not not
Want To Be Clear
want to read, don’t want to read want to speak, don’t want to speak want to trust, don’t want to trust want to believe, don’t want to believe want to leave, don’t want to leave want to love, don’t want to love want to feel, don’t want to feel want to be touched, don’t want to be touched just want to be clear to live, in harmony
One
Quiet light breathing the world, time, slowed, standing, near still forgotten just here Peace a mellow kiss, shoulder, bare the limbs, relaxed, motionless no words still, just, still Harmony soft hair on a cheek the breast, with every breath, touching, her back wantingness, to breath, together to forge Attuned faint, warm air pockets, rising like Panton chairs, two, lying close, as closer cannot be cradled, protected Sheltered fingertips, gentle, hardly touching the fine hairs, unfeelable, affection the firm undulating plane butterfly, in an English garden