I f*cking love the rain.
Storms are even better.
I love to hear of your canceled plans
As you stand there, getting wetter
I adore the miserable faces it brings
To everyone but me
I ache for the sound of chain it makes
As it rattles absently
If my friend is joined by thunder, lightning, floods and all;
I feel awash and truly blessed,
By the sway of it all
What occurs so blissful to me
in the symphony of splash,
Is the the 200 voices that are in my head;
Concur rather than clash
It’s got to be routinish, I presume
The sun was glinting on the captain's polished rudder
The banks of Avon, clenched in gorgeous summer bloom
Spread silence, with its permanent cicadas
We've reached a waterfall, then gracefully turned round
One ivy-covered old hotel fade out of sight
Soon all the passengers will step on solid ground
And disappear in the halo of daylight
Meanwhile the captain talks about his mortgage
His navigator listens absently, he thinks
About his dream, if only he could forge it
In real size, in grandeur scheme of things.
Crooked Tree, there’s so much of you in me.
I whisper to the wind my confession.
This heart of mine is quite GRIM and GLOOMY.
Of FEELINGS; not one goes without question.
WISTFUL; I reach beyond the canopy.
Lovelorn and lost in hell among the crowd;
wondering absently in agony
through eternity. Lost beneath it’s SHROUD.
Endless days, months, and years in precession.
Every second of time from dusk til’ dawn
I wage a war against my DEPRESSION.
Emotionally broken and WITHDRAWN.
Withstanding the winds of MELANCHOLY
requires more grain than the common holly.
I sat alone by the sea
when a snail waved to me.
She politely asked “Is this seat free?”
“Why yes,” I said, “ certainly.”
“I've traveled forth all lifelong
seeking somewhere to belong.
I've sought wide and sought long
for a place to sing my song."
We sat a while companionably
and watched the waves absently.
When I again glanced amicably,
her abandoned shell lay silently.
Holding her empty shell to my ear.
I heard her message most sincere
Sounds of the sea resounded clear –
"Thanks to you, I sing my song here!"
Who the hell is Etty Ket
To keep interfering in my life?
I keep hearing its not Etty Ket
From my very soon to be wife.
I bet she was a Victorian
With a long pointy nose
Red flanellette bloomers
And long stripey hose.
One of those very worthies
Who, year after year
Just couldn't resist
That urge to interfere.
Oh the embarrassments
At odd times of my life,
Eating soup with the wrong spoon
Or fish with the wrong knife.
I've laughed when I shouldn't,
Wished that I was dead,
Stood there in horror
Face glowing scarlet red,
Having absently committed
Some perceived heinous crime,
Just an ignorant peasant
Trapped by the rules of
A more stiff and formal time.
Etty Ket thanks to you
I've gone through times of stress
But now I've reached an age
When I couldn't care any less.
So now I wear desert wellies
All the year round
And I wear odd socks
When a pair can’t be found,
Spill food down my pullie
And don’t give a damn
Take it or leave it
For I am what I am.
Life’s too short to worry
You’re dismissed out of hand,
Farewell Etty Kett, get back
To your Cloud Cuckoo Land.
Photograph 3: Rain
Dancing in the rain
umbrellas twirl, not a care
Chilly rain dampened hair
Clothes cling suggestively to the skin
Under dark skies, lightning flickers
Flashes, distant rumbling echo
Dancing there in the rain
umbrellas float, not a care
Rain drums absently
Wet clothes soaked
A laughing cry
a cry of delight
Or of surprise from thunder, high
Just dancing under a dark sky
Lights from an outer car come
the sodium arc light hums
into the frosted night
Bathing all in acidic
sickly amber that of a toxic wound,
splashing through the skeletal trees
the snow flies on invisible currents
snow drifts glow in that sickly yellow
the wind is sharp cutting
the branches dance
there in the night
there in the harsh street light
a shadowed figure standing
just out of sight its flock cloak
flapping absently in the wind
The streets are vacant under the mystery rain gently falling as I gaze into the cold blue depth of a fluorescence-lit street
Languishing…
Under blaring lamps, the hardtop black flickers wet from the rain, I try to keep the cold night at bay with the sharp burn of rum as the city hums!
Lucidity… bright!
Overheard by none, it shimmers absently waiting to die.
I watch in horror a lingering dread, of a dark figure walking along the edge they gather their cloaks as the wind bluster!
Absently…flapping!
Something grows hot as at the tip of my fingers a cigarette burns dully in the light, I pull a drag of acidic smoke, I flick it into the wind, the hot tip smashes the ashes drift in spirals…spins!
Tilting…
Away, lazily in the wind, I feel the need for a shot of hot rum, I reach for my gun and turn into the wind gathering my thoughts, fading…
I feel the hum of the engine, the purr of its idle, the muffled sound of the radio, the street and its vacant MISERY!
The rain still falls gently on my face turning, feeling the mystery,
trying to shake the thoughts;
of needing a drink...
(Of Rum!)
We cast Long shadows into the past.
They cover buried things of something vast.
They cover the bones of things better left unknown.
Optic vision fires flair and cracks at the revelations.
Insane holy and profane, settling deep in the back
of memories, remain only fine dust settles
on Eons empire in vacant halls.
Alone, cold sitting in empty shadows,
a sound drone's impressions drown
delayed hands absently keep a rhythmic beat.
Only chimes echo along hollow halls
as the hands keep marking the hour.
Deep is this inferno of silence shadows
casting visions into the past.
We cast Long shadows into the past.
That cover buried things of something vast.
They cover the bones of things better left unknown.
Yeah...
I am in the winter
of my life feeling snow
Soft as it falls
my façade cracks
Ice does find its way
deep into the skin of history
shadows gather in my rooms
something sits on the floor
they linger in the corner
These images of you
Memories of them
I am the winter
Of a lost life
A façade cracks
The snow falls absently, softly
Its skeletal bones bare
Eyes still stare
All that remains is the soul
A drift as a shadow lingers there
A bare bulb blares
sways absently silently
in the chilled sliver nights air
Hollow eyes watch from this home
of ruined deeds
something struggles
Somewhere it roams
In the garden
In the weeds
It grows there
bare deep dark deeds
All that remains is a skeletal something
Feel the drifting breeze
Lightning strikes here and there
Blinding bright burning out the sight
In the aftermath only images remain
The door sways gently
The writing on the wall declares it all
Wallpaper tears,
Portraits stare darkly
I brace for the coming fury
A private holocaust
All that remains is a skeletal something
As a figure stands there
Sitting under the willow tree
on a hot and gray day
just passing the evening away
delicate sounds of thunder
rumble far far away
watching the winds run and play
the grass softly turns
as waves in a Jade run
while rolling hill’s laze
a little white house
in the middle of the planes
small distant beyond all
under a haloed sun
dark at noon day, cooling
gentle breeze as it carries a hint of fall
on its way sitting under a willow tree
besides a deep pond watching the ripples
cast a wish upon each stone away
watching every stone as they fall away
my life passing the days away
feeling an ancient House fluttering in the distant
on milky white sands emeralds waters lap
with the tears of forgotten life sitting
under a willow tree
on a dyeing hot brilliant day
a dark shadow on horizon race
tossing the stones of a heavy life away
into a dark emerald pawn
discarding the stains of my barren days
here comes the raines again
falling like a new emotion
drop absently drip
each ripple the moments of thought
the house white haunted the lands
where the wind turns
on times Shifting Sands
Strange people
are scurrying
here to there
each toiling in odd
obsolete jobs
I watch the timbers lean
to and fro
around the ancient grove
I find it odd that the trees grow
not where they stand
only bare limbs and broken fruits
strange people hid
their large watering eyes
blind to words of
oppression and opportunities
odd jobs and absent divinity
burning humanity
trees
tower drift in the mist across
a wasted landscape
obtuse objects drift absently
over bare auto parks
shopping malls as figures
wonder absently
stumbling strangers, odd, elongated
figures from obscure and ancient jobs
I see leaves in the dark
lit by moonbeams
drift to and fro
falling
falling
in the obsolescence
of the grove, they stand not
in the moment
but grow in fractured time
broken fruits lie rotten
upon the ground
strange people will be picking
up the pieces
in another few hours
as oily black eyes
stare out from windows
in burning houses, absent
in divinity’s sublime
strangers linger here, there
I find it very odd
oblivion objects
float on ancient skylines.
the house is in ruins
the weeds grow in
the tangled ruined garden
the toys in the yard
are old and cold
the door is a jar
swings creeks in the absent wind
a figure sits in a broken chair
bare bulb blare sways silently
absently in the chilled night air
eyes watch from this house,
unknown
of ruined deeds something struggles
the garden is in weeds
here and there
bare and burnt
toys are stained, strewn, alone
broken, faded, frayed
tumbling away
around the yard, they lay
after a wars drone
a figure stands there
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