When the liquor sweetness has gone
and the lingering softness upon my lips
honied tenderness now long departed
your kisses are a bad taste in my mouth
When the laughter has faded away
and leaves its shadows upon the walls
echoes of much brighter times
your words scattered ashes in the wind
What is it that blinds the uncurious
to precious things beneath the surface
waiting patiently to be discovered by
someone who knows and appreciates
that searching those forgotten places
often leads to seams of gold
Was it the swift southerly wind that swept
up the narrow entrance to the harbour
and cleared the mid-day heat from the hills
dragged the tiresome humidity from the air?
Or was it the last fingers of golden dusk
that crept up longitudinal valleys
and rendered the colours all to charcoal
gave way to the night’s deep inky hues?
Or perhaps inevitable evening’s sighs
transition from harsh bright yellow to twilight
as we stood upon the waterfront
while the ocean turned to obsidian?
Was it the coarse cries of returning gulls
the footsteps of a well weathered commute
that left you dumbfounded and speechless
when I asked you that important thing?
You took my breath away
like a swift blow to the chest
hollow and winding
but not at all unpleasant
not at all violent
pleasantly surprising
drawing a faint smile
after the initial drop jaw shock
lips curling up at the edges
You took my breath away
Here beneath the stunning stars we lay
talked quietly of our deepest thoughts
dismissed concerns and reassurances
hands clasped together in tight union
synchronous rhythm section of our hearts
Here beside a rushing crystal stream we sat
altered consciousnesses with our friends
deep laughing at the smallest nonsense
passing the universal pipe of peace
The pounding of drums surround our heads
Here under this lattice of ancient branch
we took shelter from the heat of the sun
shared stories of our rare separate days
face to each other in lush green pastures
Kiss me and let the strings take flight!
Broad spit of golden sand
marked at its crown and ridge
by feathers of fine grass
and the water’s driftwood line
the ghost of highest tides
Summer sun has bleached
the timbers white and grey
and shelly lace upon the ground
crunches under heavy foot
waves the sonorous percussion
Sturdy apron on the shoreline
rounded boulders dark grey
tossed there by great poseidon
once the base of granite cliff
now softened by a greater force
Amber evening’s fingers spread
across the brooding groups of birds
their sanctuary rendered calm
huddled together against the night
natures shadow on quiet beach
When it rains in paradise
the smell is electric blue
a clean mist rises and
the earth breathes a sigh
When it rains in paradise
everything is made serene
the shutters open and
the people all smile
When it rains in paradise
the ground is made new
lush flora burgeons and
the birds all rejoice
When it rains in paradise
great waters flow onwards
refreshing the plains and
replenish our cups
Bullshit poet shouts lazy lyrics
sunglasses to hide his crazy eyes
tattoo tear-drop a plastic provenance?
maybe misguided youth’s marker
Foreign tourists consult the timetable
backpacks, caps and shin high socks
are they looking for somewhere clean?
they’re only about two blocks off
Native preacher mumbles and sighs
giving a lecture, incoherent and drawn
does he know what he is babbling?
that faculty seems to have departed
Burdened girl with black, vacant stare
gazes lustfully at her lame colleague
will he notice that she wants him?
his cigarette smoke smell and rebellion
Chattering simpletons tear up tickets
spread their chaff in to the breeze
do they come here every day to watch?
they seem to know the drivers’ names
Grey-haired gentility rifles through handbag
trying not to notice the scent of it all
surely she’d have been driven in today?
maybe her husband went to golf instead
I stood upon the mountain and watched
the blessed twilight falling upon
those glistening fields of emerald green
A smooth, clear night approaches from
the inky east, the navy star sphere
and sets across those silent plains
And in the west the last of day-time
disappears ‘neath a distant range
a jagged tear of sunlight, above the land
And when the blazing disc of sun
descends in crimson autumn sky
below the rolling, grassy hills
it is not the end, it is not the endAnd when the cool clear evening breeze
sweeps across restful warm soils
and chills the flowers in to night
it is not the end, it is not the endAnd when the tears are cried and done
lost in the dust and gravel
no tears ever made fertile ground
it is not the end, it is not the endFor when the earth has settled in
and new green growth is started
the once bare patch a testament
it is not the end, it is not the end
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