Of my sense of beauty
When I see an alien eye
Rendering a familiar form
I am transported
To other worlds
To other dreams
To other insights
I learn my bounds
Then extend them
Beyond what I’d known
Or even dreamed possible
I am transported
To other worlds
To other dreams
To other insights
I learn my bounds
Then extend them
Beyond what I’d known
Or even dreamed possible
One sunny Sunday
Death came to my smithy
In his shroud of black
Trailing a shadow, like blood
Spilt on the butcher’s floor
Your time has come.
Said Death
What say you?
I am not ready, Ancient One.
So say they all.
It’s not always easy
Not like a centreline
On the highway
On which I drive through life
Keep to the right
Keep to the right
Keep to the right
Except to pass
Eyes forward
Movin’ on
Leavin’ all the dust
Behind me
And o’er it all
Arced golden steel
To celebrate
The westward move
Some with regret
And, some, disdain
Though most with neither
This nor that
I think not
Of the world I’m in
The present
Not this very day
But all the worlds
I’ve yet to see
Which will also
Fall behind
Breathe
Like coming up for air
In the tumult
Of crashing surf
Before the wave
Takes me under
My spirit
My soul
The eye
Of my
Being
Scrawled there
In pigment
And love
Arcs and lines
A language of hope
And possibility