"It's not what you look at that matters, it's what you see."

 – Henry David Thoreau

The wise are filled with doubt

I sat with my professors
philosophise as they teach
“be careful,” they said “of the walls of sound,
in conclusions that you reach.”

The Road

The road is filled with burning wood
people leaving, told they should
grab some clothes and hit the road
and hear the windows behind explode

Pigs in the barn

Pigs in the barn
the farmer’s gone out for a spell
his Niece is covering for him
she’s had to lay down, she’s not well

Castle in my mind

My neighbour, with his driveway entrance,
hardwood double doors
and the multi-level rooms,
over gleaming, silk-screen shores

Freedom #4

Your freedom of speech, how do you defend it
is it so close to your heart that you need to befriend it
dignified silence, jettisoned, forgotten
views contrary, sullied, putrid and rotten


In Dante’s Inferno, when trying to describe
the houses of Hell’s lamentations 
the torments, the trials, laid quick to ascribe
amidst the curses and blessings of nations

Clive James

To parch me worse than all the ills that waste
My features.
The unbending justice which
Examines me and makes me breathe in haste.

Why would you want to be old?

My days are numbered I know that well
it is why I’m stuck here in this living hell
the biscuits stale, the tinkle of tea
and the nurses told not to bother with me

We’re not to blame

It’s not our fault, we’re not to blame
we’re just trying to maintain our freedom
we mine our dark materials, this is not a game
because there are other poor people who need ‘em

One day closer every day

Sheep droop jaw and hooves split in the stumble for the hay,
eager teeth picking at the stubble and the crust
Knees buckle their hollow humble eyes stare down and absorb
what was mud is now unsullied deep red dust

The sweet sweet sound

There’s a sweet sweet sound moving across the settled ground
it whispers in my ear in the morning
like a solitary breeze that whistles through the trees
and summons all the birds to cease their yawning

What are we made of?

What are we made of? asks the child who cries
who just wants a toy she can play with
or to ask most politely before she dies
“is there someone out there I can stay with.”

A place to breathe

My, what a lovely place you have
you must be very proud
I love your modern furniture
and the space that you’ve allowed

The lifestyle you ordered

The lifestyle you ordered is currently out of stock
our warehouse has been stripped of supplies
our people are working around the clock
to ensure you get your hands on the prize

I remembered yesterday

I remembered yesterday the times that I have with you
And visions of the grateful days and all that I have wished for you

One day

There’s a ghost selling memories down by the shore
as a jury decides its fate
there’s a man of religion knocking at my door
I need to lie down, he can wait.