​
​When day broke
​I looked outside.
​The sky was not praised.
​The morning birds
​were not praised.
​And I was left alone again.
​
​I saw a single magpie,
​a stone in its beak.
​Still trying to talk of
​spring freedom and
​firebirds that soar.
​
​Well then, I’ve lived for ages.
​And my ears remember
​the ocean’s echoes.
​And in the spring to come.
​I will meet you again.
​Moment by moment
​this is the way.

​
​I heard that everyone
​goes on this road.
​It’s miserable to imagine that.
No flowers and no
fruit to produce.
I think I will choose
a different road.
One with a raging fire
and the magpies flying high.
I will wonder what to do
with the rest of my life.

​

The magpie laughs
in the half-madness between us.
Tell me what has happened here?
Clothes are wet with the blue air.
As the voice of the torrent
attempts to subdue
the dragons of desire.
But I think of such
pleasures still to come.
Of a quiet calm before
I look at your body again.
Every finger on the right note.
Everything in its own pleasure.

A sudden lurch
urged me to rest
and shut my life.
Lazily highlighting
a defensive stance.
But paired with the pen
and the whistle of love.
I will not yield to
this docile glance.
But embrace the warmth
of this mundane time.
Today is a good day to live.
​

The envious water
obscures the silver sky.
Pitching us all into darkness.
As cherry-bloom lie scattered
on the empty streets.
Once full of life
But fading in a moment.
Yet, even through the gloom
I see the golden beams.
That never cease their glow.
To know the path of
love and travelling,
Enough to take me beyond
this home of nothingness.

I see white shadows
come and go in the window.
They dwell within the silence.
And whilst the rest of us turn
inward and outward.
They eat lunch and talk to friends.
With the certainty of tides.
I hope soon to hear
knocking at the door.
And I will see you there.
Full of wild patterns
from a yearning heart.
Your spirit able to take
us away from this place.
Not magic but love.
​

A cold face with numbers.
That is all I am.
Give it another decade or two.
And I might be
recognized as an odd poet.
Reading Bukowski
and chewing off the misery.
In the distance hearts and minds
severed from one another.
The tragedy is not yet over,
another is waiting.

A couple of magpies
brought me news.
“We’re doomed, aren’t we?”
Calmly walking around.
And thinking of
your beautiful eyes.
I told them
“There are stones
in every house, and my
soul has already half- departed
from this place”
The rest is always blue.
​

In this place
separate solitudes now.
Emptied of compassion
and windows of words.
All that is left
are computer drifts
and coded verse.
Not even the Buddha
understands.
But I will not be stripped away.
I see the sky’s
beating pulse every day.
And my lungs fill with life.
My solitude is no wasteland
and no setting sun.
Just a place to witness
silence and surrender to love.

Around me a decline
in birdsong and butterflies.
The sky binge watches
TV most of the day.
And the moon dresses
in a white suit.
Guitar in hand and singing
“Nobody knows the trouble I’ve seen”
It is easy to forget the time or day.
But the ocean calls to me.
A heart line shaped in your love
“Come with me and spend
the night, what else is there?”.
And blossoms swirl
down to caress my face.
The simple wisdom of a cherry tree.
Such a small thing to show
you have not forgotten.