Rabbit Eyes


The wind has been whistling beneath my feet,

Tickling me into shivers as I chase mine out in the street,

I don’t look too far nor stray in any away,

But I feel my wonder canter wherever my disposition will play,

I roam with unmeasured intent like a falling leaf,

Just staying afloat waiting for the down to bring relief,

Since I’ve left my tree I’ve lived each night for each day,

Pulling the strings with the crystalized blotches on display…


It feels like I need keys to hark back to,

Keys to open me up to what they say true,

These flittering things that protest to know me,

As they hold on snugly and reduce me to what I used to be,

It actually seems that changing tides will not wash through,

With time slowly drowning maybe they have only made me see askew,

Through the haziness of the bubbles that captured the dreams I set free,

The ones I was so sure that if I pursued on my own would fill me with glee…


They riddle me with shame as they burn in my heart,

They ridicule me in blame when I don’t learn and fall apart,

I saw it in those Rabbit Eyes as we met so unexpectedly while crossing,

My brother’s heroin bent instincts were to flee without stopping,

But love haunts the wicks in the depths of his soul shaft,

Just as I am haunted by his face I see on those lost,

Ambling vagrants outside in the wind tossing,

Wondering if any of this is worth stopping…




A poem from a wounded warrior lying prone on a desert’s vast audaciousness,
A crying silence of appeal that itself stretches for the horizons,
Screams without talking,
For all who were here have been cut down, like death was never more contagious than this,
One hand still clutching as if reaching for the sun rising,
His soul will be day walking…
Shimmering against the blades of dry grass threatening the sky to drop its basement,
Changing hues dance to the music of the beating sun,
Her melodies scorching,
The warrior’s place fades as his memories bleed out on the very ground he is facing,
There is nothing left he is blinded in her and his war is done,
He will be remembered as tortured…
Not by that gawking lizard gaudy in his guise against the desert’s blandness,
A false witness whose truth is as natural as it is sinister,
But what does it know of the wounded,
Or those who fight against others when they could be united in their sadness,
Maybe it is just the finisher,
Who could have assumed it?

Rains on the Plains

I heard a whispering that sounded like thunder on the horizon,

A gentle power heard with eyes that seek,

It is with ears that don’t speak that I try to fathom the lightning,

To perfectly catch a strike sometime before I sleep,

There’s a storm that’s being brewing to the pounding of hearts,

This melting of contemplations I’ve had for days,

What I’ve been thinking has been a drizzle long forgotten in these parts,

Some sort of drought that interrogates the feelings unpaid,

The clouds they weep as I stand on them with bare feet with hard soles,

They wring out the old tales told by the ghosts in the plains,

In the folds of the sky my dreams they deny what they have been told,

As the drumming silence slips through my hands with the pain…



Sailing Across a Sea of Dreams


Sailing across a sea of dreams,

Where everything possible glitters and shimmers,

Upon violet waters where time seems to be still in constant dawning…


Tides swell and carry me forth,

I rouse in their rhythms with a daintiness that flatters,

Squinting unperturbed at that which is my heart’s eternal yearning…


My strings are pulled taunt,

The sails forcibly flapping as winds chime through my veins,

Mastered to attention I head unsighted with promise that in itself is rewarding…


I carve a path where fleets have sunk,

The froth of the waters splashed across my wrinkled bows,

I will see no reason or heed no warning while my passion is burning…


The brewing storm couldn’t even quell,

Douse my fires or completely obscure my path to her,

I’m lost on these perilous waters and yet still I feel no reason for worth turning…


Back to lands that have been scorched to a cinder,

Memories of slain hopes that now fertilise the roots of understanding,

There’s nothing there that is not dead weight to be thrown overboard in this process of unlearning…


I will never learn it seems,

Or be free of these dreams that keep me afloat,

So until I too sink I will always be seafaring with this love that I’m serving…


Where Have We Grown?

Where have we grown?

Expectant eyes ask, squinting into a fading blue horizon,

Watching dreams sail into nights of warm hearts, where hurting is quelled,

There, from the treetops of my youth they sprouted,

Leaving wet footprints in the pages of books, as they found me,

Grew with me, touched my shoulder like fairies in sky blue dresses,

Opening doors to the winds that change without warning,

Warning, don’t stay, they gave me these words,

That try hopelessly to describe how I feel without feelings,

Fearless like a defiant girl with pigtails and a slashing ruby smile,

Daring a chaotic world to calm down calmer still into the calmness,

Of her being, lapses in creativity take me back there,

An empty room brimming with blind lunatics,

Studying the therapies of colouring inner worlds, seeing inverted,

If only I knew then that seagulls glide with broken wings,

Ghosting each other like shadows in the heavens,

Cutting the perfect swath through roiling clouds,

Then perfect smiles would be forever imprinted,

Like the glint of an eye or throaty laughter,

Sending golden ripples through the first layer of my skin,

That Machiavellian veneer, a bloodied gate,

Guarded by sentinels with gilded axes,

Where did I go?

Hidden under the bridge to the land of The Most,

That place where ideals are married to hopes – that place

Just a stone throw further from what I ever wanted, greener still,

I do not admit what I know if I haven’t yet asked the right question,

Held charily onto this stir like it was an egg of a honey sucker,

And I had the hands of a shy clumsy giant, grasping without sight,

Tripping over my own airs just to pretend I am not alone,

Not a story without a storyteller or friend without foe,

Where I am from, they do not stare,

They do not eat what they cannot kill, only love what bleeds,

Drinking from it what gives joy to thirst,

Delight to hunger,

But how could she know?

I’ve prowled the perimeters of a desert brown surface,

With feline obsession that steels my resolve, a hunter with a kiss,

Those shoulders when bare give coolness to my brashness,

A chill up my spine, I slash away feverishly at the obscenity of it all,

I fall from the dizzy heights of her stature as I prey,

A head full of fear, like a head full of snakes,

Turning me to stone with one look of a War Goddess,

I crumble at her feet and eat my words…

Eyes of You

Close your eyes and think of you,

See what I would see if I had your wonder,

If I had the absolute intrigue to slow birds in flight,

I’d see a soaring lady with the gentle step of a tigress,

The swoosh in your movement like the glint in your eye,

Every time I miss another secret, miss another turn of your head,

As you look and look away but never fade into light or shade,

I try guessing what you see but fail every time with a smile,

The mystery of you is your pleasure to keep and free,

To release and feed, to respect and let be,

Like your rhythm,

Your deliberate rhythm,

Do you hear silent music made only for you?

Do you play soulful instruments inside my very mind?

Your irises dance to the moon in the depths of your face,

When you ply that youthful smile like a sweet blade to the heart,

Shattering the mirror so it rains hundreds of scattered pieces,

Memories and fantasies mingling to your beautiful sound,

Touching the ground in the wake of your footsteps,

A valley of the deepest brown curves,

With the softest dips,

The river licks,

And feeds into your being,

Drawing eternal strength from the you,

That faced and overcame and lived to tell no one,

With no need for recognition or any to bear false witness,

You see what I see when I watch in annealed serenity,

Like the oldest tree knowing in the spring of mid October,

Where you blow with the winds that rejoice in your creation,

Something so elementary it must be nature’s crowning,

The envy of the worlds when they eventually meet,

Personifying one woman,

Undeniably you…

Wilting Lilies

wilting lilies by the bath room window,

pale yellow light seeps through to kiss the sill,

is it enough to stop the dying from being dead?

enough to wet the cracks in the harsh soil?

a muffled buzzing somewhere inside,

something has not yet felt or noticed,

a mirror with no onlooker is exactly that,

a room inside a room besides itself,

look there through the hissing mist,

naked and revealed it must be truth,

towel on the floor hardly worth a mention,

under garments asunder like stepping stones,

welcoming even to an unseen stranger,

scum down the sink hole round it goes,

what could have been – forgotten,