Death and life can float up
In a second or less and fill the
Rest of Time. Rest on Time

Therefore, let hate weight
Nothing and noone, drifting off
On a tide of Peace.

Watching you sleep like a lion


Yours is a perfect face and it’s inhabited by the perfect sleep of a perfect mind

Whose full idea of life is to be as quiet and still as possible, a true creature

Unperturbed by the weight of humanity, At one with the quiet behind it

Perplexed by unnecessary ornament that
Ferments reality into human fabric

That cloaks and chokes the bright buzz
Beneath the haze of small talk

Ox eyes


Vision trapped behind
Teeth, grinds on whatever ‘s
Beneath, above

Planets spur seasons,
Scoop it up, horned
Halos turn earth 

Seed upon seed for
Darkness to choose who
Will see the dawn.

Autumn leaves dissection


Chlorophyll breaks down to reveal the colours beneath:

Orange is the beta carotene (like carrots)
Yellow is another carotene called xanthophylls

Maple is red because anthocyanin is sugar sweet

Brown is tannin, like tea, the end, once all the other colours are said and done..

Throughout Nature

The water is all around us and can
Lift us. We will never sink if we
Drown doubt with open – eyed gratitude

The maker is continuous and so
Should we, a product, be, for
We form all in our own image

Continuity in Hope, and it repeats
Us so everything will come
Up at sum point, mathematically.

Hope never ceases, like Time, it is,
Bright, you will not find a black
Hole that’s not shot with hope – spots,

Wedding perception

Some humans see blue black
Where others see gold white

Right wrong? No. Realities cohabit
Sight is a trick of the mind

Batman is a yogi

Distance, size, obscurity and time mean nothing
To his wings

But we are caged in
Distance, size, obscurity and time and they
Mean our world

Away from us and
Make us feel that sight is real, deaf to
The flicker

Inside each neuron that expands
Mathematics to a darkness only bats believe.

Hallowed trees

When branches sink their roasted
Leaves into next Spring’s earth

The Dead meet the Saints and Winter’s
Angels light the leafless dark.

Deciduous awe

In the bark there is a
Press it, let its edges round
Look down the avenue’s
With wind reaching in, to
To the roots of your soul
To Earth’s grace, rolling on  
Round itself, round the sun,
a God.

So little time

Can I make the space bigger,
between stops on the Tube,
for mind to breathe in
and out over the din
of the stomach and
thoughts and errands
and commitments and
distances between states
I could be or should be or
would be –