
Young Man
to Old Tree
gimme shelter
from the rain
and gloom
on this misty grey loathsome day.
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I leak words
into a notebook
at dawn
when I wake
I use a fine pen
one that glides
births words
onto paper
soundless
boundless
unread.
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I awaken to fog
birdsong soothing blindness
om mani padme hum
sings my sanctuary bum
but three monsters
menace beyond my dreams
yeah yeah yeah
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Every one of us
older than you
now
still standing by
muted choir mouthing
your Imagine
awaiting
some visionary
one who knows
Peace.

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Instability?
even ghosts stagger
in spotlight.
Leave us then
fluttering amid branches
between
hushed windlifts
of trees still standing.

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Moments unexpected
quiet ones
more stir than startle
a breath or blink
a between.
Pause mid-step—
my Elixir.
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Small houses
in sunlight
covered windows
secrets within
quiet
beckoning
cool whisper
invitation
to step
in.

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Oh fey darkness
dissonant creep
whispering slurred
choruses
disturbing my sleep
misshapen dream
fade
to colourless
so jagged so
deep.
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Why do you
sit quiet mornings
places where
no light
seeps in?
I reflect
pay homage
dream hope
to inhale one elusive
drop of stillness.


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Oh rather
live in a time
where Art informed
where Music inspired
where Poets instructed
gunless armies
two-stepping in fields
of Word Power.
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Pencil on paper. Images arise. Message received.