WHITE SWAN

You sailed into the creek

Of my muddy life

Like a sweet white swan

Looking for a lake of lavender

That was serene enough

To bear your beauty

And secure enough

To greet your gracefulness.

But I knew all the time

That you would paddle onwards –

Another body of turquoise water

Was always beckoning you.

Its conceit made me seem sickly,

Bereft of cerulean sparkles,

And deadly dank with rank remains

Of ruined possibilities.

So I am left at a loss

As if I’d been dredged dry;

But the remnants of ripples

And gentle wet waves

Of your perfect presence

Are still lingering -

They will finally splash one day

On a shocked shore of rock and rubble.

PRANCING GRAVEDIGGERS

It’s impossible to make meaning of it
When you’re reduced to the lowly status
Of untrustworthy collateral damage
And the old joys of life slip into sick hiatus.

The glee of the gravediggers seems objectionably obscene
And a gross distortion of the heartbreak of accidental death.
While the decisions of state make nothing like sense
And greedy perpetrators barely stop for breath.

There were friendships lost and good names spoiled,
All because of a hijack that careened into a crash,
Leaving more wounds than anyone will ever want to treat -
Various victims were violated, compacted like tins of trash.

So the months become years as dull despair destroys rare resolve,
Until there are no lingering leftovers of life on which to advance –
All because the bad and ugly chose to loot and steal and lie and cheat.
But why, pray tell, did the self-righteous good opt to pose and preen and prance?

CYRUS

Born to a king and Mandana,
Bright shining like sunlight he rode,
Conquered, and then set free captives,
Justice and love freely bestowed.

False kings all fell to great Kourosh;
He saved, rebuilt and truly reigned,
Gave rights to all who sought his peace –
Persia’s empire of freedoms gained.

People across the ancient world
Called him “Father”, and called him “great”;
Cassandana called him beloved –
To his glory he fought vain hate.

But now the beard of great Kourosh
Must be drenched hot by each scorched tear,
He sees his wisdom cast aside -
His homeland wrecked, riddled with fear.

WEAK SLEEP

When you cry instead of sleep,
They will say that you are weak;
But maybe it is your strength
That got you to the edge of slumber.

As the world's judgements
Smash you to little bits
And you collapse into your bed,
The act of lying down,
Determined to rest,
To fight another day,
Is surely victory enough.

So, if tears caress your cheeks
In the absence of any other sympathy,
Who can criticise you?
For now ... no-one.
Tomorrow ... everyone.

MATERIAL OMISSIONS

Love is never ever anyone’s principal focus -
Always we see mostly the material world
Through tinted water-marked man-made lens,
Showing us we should never take a loss of any kind:
Diversified across the spare parts spectrum -
Not even half a hope and no chance of gain or glee -
Ever driven but never going anywhere much,
As the lights flash red and green and stick on pause.

Thus set, we briefly soar in short blank bursts until we flop,
And a chosen few acquire by cunning all of our dreams and plans,
While our children climb towards the same dreadful heights;
Until the wobbly world shifts and we turn back to love too late.

EXTREMISTS

How can I sleep? My heart’s so full of you:
Bright smiles, dark eyes, smooth skin, sweet voice, kind touch –
Set stark against blue backdrops where we walked
As I wooed you and you gave me so much.

There were dolphins diving, sea birds swooping;
Low sun streaked lean in its autumnal guise,
And you walked wise and took my seeking hand.
We watched wet stars that burst to drench our eyes.

Each day was new: coming so clear and crisp.
Your warm, perfect body curled up near me –
Guarded by night’s garments and not much more –
Teeming moments - extreme in ecstasy.

TOO MUCH SUN WILL BURN

The rain tonight
Is like bleeding in my thumping heart.
It pounds down so hard and fast
Reminding me that we are so far apart.

The sky tonight
Is grey like every yesterday’s defeat.
It reflects nothing of any value
But it somehow makes my solitude complete.

The air tonight
Is rank with moisture and hints of sweat.
It feels as though I have died
With only glimpses of your charms to regret.

The sounds tonight
Are washed white with watery cascades
Crashing on concrete receptacles
That throw drenched drops back up in spades.

The smell of tonight
Is fresh with the rain it freely dispenses.
But my nostrils are not distracted in any way,
Because the scent of you lingers in my senses.

The taste of tonight
Is rich with expensive ways of dulling pretences –
Spirits and froth fill me up with numbness –
Anything to take my mind off your stubborn defences.

But back to my old heart,
Which you have made young enough to flutter anew.
You know my quest has not changed and it never will –
Tonight’s sweet rain is as wet as my love for you is true.