LVX CREARE

(or) Verse, Organic and Inorganic

Symphony Here

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!

Quiet Beach

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

In Paradise

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

Scenes From A Bus Stop #2

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

Dusk

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

It Is Not

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 end

And 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 end

And 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 end

For 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

Desperados

Your cigarette ash falls slowly, tumbling
in the cloudy remnants of your drink
grey sand sinking into a watery sea of gin
some collecting on the last of the ice

Traces of the night before linger everywhere
empty bottles clumsily stacked at the door
crumpled sheets and discarded shoes
dusty residues of a mystery white insufflant

Even in the grogginess of mid morning haze
the pulsing excitement of the chase remains
the steely tang of fresh blood in the mouth
careless injury sustained in our desperate flight

When they inevitably ask ‘was it worth it?’
the suited squares and badged enforcers
men and women I once considered fellows
I’ll smile and nod my head, remembering this

The thrill of our hasty exodus, blood pumping
the smell of gasoline and burned rubber on tar
engine heat radiating against a crimson sunset
straight roads and starlight desert-scapes

But most vivid of all is our passionate aftermath
sweat and dust no counter to our embrace
the taste of victory on your sun-chapped lips
lusting infatuation and sweet liquor on mine

The smile will fade though, when I brood over
the flying heat, the hellish rain of blazing lead
as your life by the sword comes full circle
the shattered glass, spilt remnants of your drink

Lying here on cold steel altar of ill gotten gains
no tears from the people for a dashing desperado
slicked back hair and morning’s manly shadow
white sheet shroud and harsh photographer’s flash

Rest easy in that goodnight sweet roguish hero
alone now I must beat the frantic swift retreat
in memory I will graze new burning skid-marks
And flee alone, in to ever changing sunsets

Thinking Of The Duke

Roses are red

Violets are blue

Blue, blue, Electric blue!

That’s the colour of my room

(Credit to David Bowie)

Some

Some people never know when it will come
live in beautiful, ignorant bliss and content
while turbid pools of deep displeasure stir
no ripples show on the sheets or pillows

Me however, I felt it coming…

Silent dread, sleepless nights, restlessness
letter writing on the hotel bureau at midnight
pouring out a sacred heart in scared anxiety
on to the pages of pure white, my black ink

Yes, I felt it coming that night…

Some people never know it’s even coming
others know the very date, down to the hour
I’ve heard of virginal brides, left at their altar
You left me at the airport terminal instead

Oh yes, I felt it coming…

Scenes From A Bus Stop

Bare-footed wench strides confidently
trolley luggage in tow, bus ticket in fist
where could she possibly be going to?
a place where shoes are not required

Grubby faced baby chews a biscuit rusk
food stained bib, glassy eyed stare
what did she have for breakfast today?
something brown, not totally nutritious

Dilapidated youth sit for their breakfast
brown paper sacks, golden arches, soda
weren’t they sat there also yesterday?
sheepskin lined boot-slippers and all

Man in track pants and tattered singlet
clutches a crumpled black shopping bag
does he think it hides the beer bottle?
everyone can smell it anyway, mate!

Uniformed schoolgirls gossip like hens
who slept with who, when and where
is it desirable to be so promiscuous?
perhaps immorality is a badge of rank

Thin man in leather jacket blows smoke
lets the ashes fall around the clean path
obviously ignoring the ‘no smoking’ sign
the stench is perfume to his urban filth