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High Bells

High bells, low bells,
Church bells, cow bells
Bells over a moor
Mountains over a valley
Bells over a meadow Rain falls soft and sleepy.Storm is imminent,
Clouds rumble, clouds gather
Bolt the gate,
Shut the shutter.
High bells, low bells
Crying sound asunder.
High bells, low bells
Can you hear the thunder?
High bells, low bells
Does it mean another?
High bells, low bells
The worm begins to stir.

The Old Man

With no sickness, and an unfolding mind
He rests alert to the visions
That he has

The curtains let the light into his room
That he needs to live by
And yearns.
In another room, a dusty piano and a dirty plate and forkTo all passersby, there was no sign of life
Just the sweet smelling roses in an overgrown
Front garden.
And the windows never opened.
There were no lights at night,
For the Angel of Darkness.

Poem. (1979)

The glass of wine 
sits on the table smirking
in self assured smugness
as I vainly search for the words
 that I have wracked my mind for.

Lost somewhere, entrenched in the 
blistering world
that brings me to my knees 
as I struggle here today, cold wet and
hungry.

Now warm and drunk I feel the struggles and the pain 
of this labour, have given birth to their child.
Sufferance is the blood and vengeance in the mind.

Tracey Jane (1984)

Very very soft hair, Angel hair
Undefinable. Different.
(And I thought I was strange !)
The two dollar room in the mansion
Of fig and rosemary and pine
The strange webbing of an outdoor party
As you drift back quietly
On the echoes of a scream !
(I hadn't actually noticed you'd gone)

In five hour's time, and plenty of wine
Intercrossed spokes
Leonardo da Vinci
In the top room, you know what I mean
Beyond the balcony. And begins the maze
The brain's fine line, pictorial mime
Of energy and thought
And thought and line
The Leonardo da Vinci smiles innocent.

The Storm (1987)

Rain, thunder, lightning, lights go out
Rumbling, no sleep
Knowing that calm will follow
Wondering how to cope with the front door
Hanging off its hinges
And the tornadoes tearing back the curtains
Of our thoughts.

Lady with a Dog (1987)

It was a usual autumn morning
Soft mist breezed the path and 
freeways
And the warm breath sweat of the
dog dusted my nostrils, and brought the
attention of my eyes to fine 
details,
Dog footprints, fresh, panting
mistress, reaching for
and throwing
A stick to chase.
Woof woof

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