"Down which hill did a small child roll?" Enquired the Zen master of the seeking soul.
"Is this a koan, oh wisest of wise?"
Asked the young seeker with awe in his eyes.

"It's whatever you think," said the Master, blank faced
"But I'd suggest you consider your answer post haste."
The Seeker drew back with alarm on his face:
"Is my soul really that close to disgrace?"

"Not your soul, my son, though it isn't snow white,
But something has changed since you entered my sight."
The Seeker felt his eyes grow most wide:
"Then what must I do to turn back that tide?"

"Think back to when you arrived at my camp -
Not two, but three souls were lit by my lamp.
And while you enquire of the vagaries of tao,
Your daughter has rolled to the base camp by now." 

Bodies, so many bodies
Pressing closer
Shoving
Pushing
Surrounded on all sides,
Can't breathe

Yet I must breathe,
Must force my way through
Onward, ever onward
Giving as good as I get
Push for shove,
Shove for push,
Nearer, nearer...

Black and white clad masses
Lash at me as I pass;
I brave the sharp stabs,
The cackling,
The hooting...
Must succeed,
Must get through!

Weary,
Stumbling,
I arrive at my goal.
Bright eyes turn to me,
My love speaks...

Milky Finger Joints

Blood red milkshake - strawberry, mmmm
A kitten's paw appears
Rather too near...
"Oh no you don't!" I cry, reaching out.
Too late

A clash of species, fur against skin
Pink, milky fur
A purring blur...
A tumbling tumbler, end over end.
Too late

Pink milk drips from my fingers
Somewhere, a cat is laughing....

The Fire Within

Blacksmith blacksmith, make me a sword,
Make me a sword of spite.
Blow the bellows, fire the forge,
Turn the metal until it glows,
And I will add my soul to the flames,
My own fire shall stoke the coals.
Hammer the blade on an anvil of hate,
And quench it in my loathing.
Sharpen the edge on a whetstone of rage,
Feel the prickling sparks of my fury.
Polish the metal with cold revenge,
Shine the steel with sour strokes,
And bind the hilt with bitterness.

Let nightmares glint on its razor edge,
This instrument of black, dark death.
One stroke is all I need from it,
One swinging blow to end my pain.
One life to give, and one to take,
And the silent struggle ends.

I had everything, but I wanted more.
Perfection slipped away by degrees -
I didn't see, didn't notice, didn't care,
And then all, all was gone.
No pity for me, no favours.
My path is clear now -
The sword.
A broken blade can be reforged,
But a broken life cannot.
One life to give, and one to take....

Single or Return?

The train is still for a moment.
The flat glass shows a reflected face
An old face, with wrinkles and creases.
The train moves,
Rain streaks move,
And the wrinkles vanish.
The face is young - my face.
I have no business looking that young.
With all I've seen
With all I know.
The bright burning pain of others,
Their sickly, green-grey loathing,
The sharp acid taste of hatred.
I have seen it all,
Felt it all....
It is the curse I wear inside
It is who I am
It is a path I must walk alone
I have no choice.

I sigh and look away....

Across the aisle are two more faces -
She loved her bridegroom
But hates the husband he's become.
He doesn't know this,
Wouldn't understand if he did
For there is no love in him, only duty and honour.
And she hates him for it.
Yet she loves him for it.

My gaze travels on....

A puffed-up kid, lost in a musical daze.
I hear the tinny beat of his music,
But his mind is dancing to a memory,
As his body remembers the girl he was with.
A moment of empty ecstasy,
Just another conquest to him.

The show continues....

Here is quiet and peace.
The old woman nods, half-asleep.
My gaze lingers here -
A patchwork of scars,
A map of the past.
Always the past....
Times of great joy,
Times of great loss,
But always the past.
No eyes to see the here and now.
In a way, I envy her.

Move along, move along....

A shock as eyes meet mine
An unexpected mirror.
Both of us look away
Then back again.
Her mind is open, welcoming,
A flutter of a hope of a promise of a dream....
We share a shy smile.
I see a hint of sadness in her eyes,
Feel a weight as great as....
Suddenly, I feel old once more,
Ten thousand souls stacked up on mine
Emotions piled high....
I am crushed beneath them.
No escape for me in the mirrors of her eyes,
No escape for me anywhere.
I turn away
I sigh
I stare at my glassy face once more.

A soft voice....

"Is this seat taken?"
It is the open mind - she is standing before me.
I shake my head, "No."
She sits, and smiles at me once more.
I smile in return.
Silence descends, and we willingly embrace it.
She stares
I stare....
We feel a strange pull
Like two mirrors,
Reflecting each other to infinity.
Reflecting....
Like for like.
Our hands reach out
Fingertips touch.
"I know," she says.
"I know," I reply.

Dawn

Mist hugs the forest floor tightly,
Reluctant to relinquish control.
Twisted shapes emerge from the darkness,
Their form changing at the light's tender caress.
Now is the time for change,
Now is the time for magic.
Black shadows crawl sullenly,
Colour-shifting to blue.
Fur gives way to feather,
Grey passes into green
A time of transformation....
The world turns,
The night-shift ends,
The Light holds sway once more.

Hands

Young hands,
Smooth-skinned, supple,
Fingers spread wide to catch the morning sun.

Strong hands,
Powerful and direct,
Gripping tightly the reins of life's Carousel.

Gentle hands,
Softly stroking, lightly touching,
Safe and considerate, hands to hold the beats of a heart.

Knotted hands,
Twisted, scarred,
Legacy of a life lived grappling at the edge.

Cold hands,
Limp and damp,
Their touch can drain laughter and freeze the soul.

Old hands,
Pale and thin of skin,
Time's lines worn like translucent lace.

Cruel hands,
Sharp of nail, taut of sinew,
Claws set to the world's face, tearing, rending...

Newborn hands,
Pink and delicate,
Tiny balled up fists like seeds, life's potential gripped within.

Many, many hands,
Each unique yet all alike,
Builders of dreams, weavers of thoughts,
their touch is mankind's signature in the sands of time.

From shining candied towers of warmest brown
To dungeon corridors of plain darkness
This is the castle I build for you.
From dreams, all from dreams...
Like Hansel and Gretel reborn
Not in gingerbread, but chocolate.
The Ballroom fills with a sweet gentle scent
As our dancing scuffs whorls from the floor
Like skaters on praline ice, we move
Dancing, dreaming...

Up sculpted candied steps we dance -
Soft light glows warmly by a filigree bed,
Piped lace patterns of brown and tan and white
I pause -
Will our passion melt this world?

The chocolate sculpture crackles and snaps
As we lie back against sugar-dusted pillows.
Flakes of brown fall softly to settle on us,
Cover us...
Our bodies disappear in a world of sweet heaven.
The walls melt,
We melt,
Becoming one with the castle.
This chocolate realm was built from dreams,
And dreams are immortal.

Through My Eyes

If you were me,
What would you see
If you looked at the world through my eyes?
A masquerade,
Life's game is played
But all I can see are the lies.

If you were me,
Then you would see
What lies behind the masks they wear.
Their hopes, their fears,
Their joy, their tears
Their souls' emotions all laid bare.

Camouflage

Like a soldier going into battle
Each layer is carefully applied.
Is the intent to deceive or expose?
Conceal or enhance?
The paints of the social artist's palette
Applied just so - pattern and order.
But is it camouflage or display?
Does it hide a truth which lies beneath,
Or is the act of disguise the true reality?
The colours are shown....
Camouflage to cover an attack?
Or to defend a retreat?
The war begins....

Orange

Let's all sing a song of praise To that marvellous fruit the orange. Its vitamins are sucked from it To put in Haliborange.

Sand

Soft beneath my feet as I walk,
Hissing grain on grain,
Whispering ghosts of forms past.
Time and tide prevail,
Returning fire's rocky child
To the dust of the stars.
Echoes of a million waves,
Surfdancing stone to sand.

06/1/02

Streets

Move in close, skim the ground
See the conflict firsthand....

A line of tarmac like a river,
Banks lined with concrete slabs.
Houses glare across the grey divide,
Bunkers in a war of false icons.
The combatants pit wage against wage,
An endless escalation - a Street War
Where the fallen are victims of fashion.
"Have or have not" says the rules,
"Keep up or die" is the battlecry.
Futility is the watchword here
Stupidity, vanity, pride....

Step back - it's just a street.
But to the urban warriors who live there,
The War of the Wallets will never end.

Summer

Summer's the time for girls to shine,
Dresses so short it's almost a crime
Bright faces,
Bright colours,
Bright smiles,
Laughter and dancing in the sun,
Cast cares aside and join the fun.
Warm words,
Warm touch,
Warm songs,
Rainbow perfume rising high,
Breathe, relax, let out a sigh.
Green grass,
Green trees,
Green faces -
Though ice cream overdose takes its toll,
Summer is always still food for the soul.

Rules of the Heart

Rules of conquest
In a battle of the sexes.
I watch the moves -
The feints
The parries
The ripostes....
But I cannot fight this war.

Rules of engagement
Shrouded in the fog of war.
I watch the manoeuvres -
Reconnaissance
Regrouping
Outflanking....
But I can see no fog here.

Rules of love
Where the intent is ever to deceive.
I know the lies -
Never leave you
Love you forever
Sorry....
But I cannot lie about the truth.

Rules of the soul
Where war holds no sway.
I am forever unarmed -
Exposed
Open
Defenceless....
But I remain undefeated.

Rules of emotion
The storm-lashed seas of the heart.
This is my world -
I ride the waves of anger
I sail on through the doldrums
I chase the sun's fire forever....
For there can be no landfall for me here.

The time has come," old Turjan said,
"To talk of many things.
Of Vertibirds and Ghoul attacks,
And Radscorpion stings."

"But Turjan," said the foxy cubs,
"You're just an aging fart!
What know you of violence,
The finest Foxy art?"

"Oh, many things!" the old man said,
"Nasty, cruel deeds.
And tales of woe so frightening
Where everybody bleeds!"

The fox cubs squeaked with glee at this,
They liked a gory tale.
They gathered at the old man's feet
With many a wagging tail.

Turjan raised his staff up high,
And wove a powerful spell.
The fox cubs cheered to see the sight -
"This story should be swell!"

Turjan's tale was gross enough
To make the fox cubs howl.
They danced and laughed and fell about -
The story was most foul.

And all the while the magic grew;
It made the fox cubs sleepy.
And one by one they nodded off....
It really was quite creepy.

Darkfox twitched a furry ear;
His cubs were awfully quiet.
He walked to where old Turjan stood,
But saw no vulpine riot.

"Oh Turjan have you seen my cubs?
I swear I heard their yelps.
I worry for their safety 'cos
They're such mischievous whelps."

Turjan merely looked around,
But answer gave he none.
And this was scarcely odd because
He'd eaten every one.