Hill

So many thoughts of good and kind

I hope we leave our shells behind:

Broken fragments of anger-shame

That left Cain with all the blame;

Our forms of monkey, gather-hunt,

Share crops and tend, then write about

Primeval fears and hopes sublime

The inkling somewhere of the Divine;

The fire that Prometheus stole

The chain and shame that he then bore

Shall we take it back and see if

They will receive it on the Hill?

That morning dew, dark wet-soaked grass

Hear Someone roaming higher lands

Take off your shoes, tread carefully now

You too, are Psyche, you too will bow

On sacred soil

In trembling Joy.

Frosted teeth

Aye, to sleep --

And maybe never wake again;

Ghosts of my children

Run across the snowy field;

I can't hold their hand,

Like in years past;

They hold mine on piss-soaked bed;

What I would give to clean theirs now

But me, the fool, how I could fume;

Alas, I fade to flesh on bone,

A burden of memories to all;

Is that my Master? or just a siren

Calling to eternal home.

No, I won't; I'll settle what I can

With however many breaths are yet given me;

Ghosts of Christmas: let me ride once more

The carriage of goodwill

As bells of hope

Pierce darkness of the soul at dawn.

monkey

am i snake? the one i fear most

rustle in undergrowth (moist)

could hurt those I love (most);

bite.

no. i am monkey:

silliest clever and cleverest silly,

proud hurting; but plays

kite - 

stream of diss

Donna's back in fits of rage and
Rik Mayall the easterm sage
Is eating m'donner bap;
'xcuse me, could I've m'money back?

laudate

while sighing for the Universe

I lie in-cap-acit-at-ed;

every tiny movement,

a mile-long post, my life expended;

but I haven't quite returned

to thoughtless grass yet,

so with my last willed instinct,

colour formed and focussed beyond

gray fog of thought;

I think of your mercy,

the sweet tapestry that binds

race, space, banner and time:

and dissolve into your arms.

lamp

the lamp you burn at midnight hour

the dream you keep from turning sour

I had your eyes when I took flight;

how do you sleep at night?

B

I'm angry at his death
For all the wrong reasons, I guess;
At 3 no one should have to leave
How do their parents grieve?

He did not deserve to go
And me; I'm angry I had to know.
And guilt; that I'd rather look away
And deny such things happen;

And fear; that it could have been
My child. The innocents.
I shudder. There are no words.

No proper ones, anyway.

And so, I'm given away. 
Only emptiness remains,

And for me my selfish anger
And for them their gaping pain.