words


are


a


disguise


for


thought


and


intention









































the


setting


sun


shone


on


wet


 pavements



turning


them


into


sheets


of


molten


gold



steam


vapour


rising









































why


do


the


vulnerable


always


put


themselves


in


the


firing


line









































men


will


work


very


hard


for


good


money


but


kill


themselves


for


love









































bitter


coffee




the


thought


of


you




passes


across


my


tongue










































love


subject


to


friction


will


wear


out


as


even


the


sturdiest


of


fabrics


do









































infinity



supreme


ironist



offers


no


answers



merely


hollow


laughter









































lights


from


the


funfare


shone


garish


and


lurid


in


the


early


evening


light









































intellectual


awareness


does


not


equal


emotional


acceptance









































a


cold


wind


slants


rain


in


from


an


iron


sky




dirty


ocean


churns


pebbles


and


shells


onto


the


sand









































where


ever


you


go




you


leave


some


thing


behind




and


take


some


thing


with


you









































why


go


to


half


measures


when


your


closer


to


the


whole









































the


sun


rose


pouring


liquid


golden


honey


through


the


window









































when


you


lie


awake




in


the


not


quite


dawn




fears


loom


like


shadows


tall









































the


woods


cool


and


dark




filtered


green


light


streams


down


through


leaves




a


solitary


bird


call


echos









































sunset



the


landscape


saturated


with


light



a


colour


transparency









































a


full


moon


shines


dusting


the


grass


with


silvery


light









































motes


seem


to


ripple


and


swim


in


streams


of


sunlight









































you


twist


and


turn



drift


away



like


smoke









































we


dance


in


primitive


ingrained


patterns



the


persistent


repetitious


mating


ritual









































despite


the


evolution


of


speech


we


communicate


more


instinctively


with


gestures


looks


and


silences


these


seldom


lie


as


words


often


do









































depression


a


black


mass


swells



a


tumorous


growth


on


the


brain









































cottages


straggled


up


the


hill


like


sheep









































sunlight


sparkles


on


polished


leaves



rinsed


by


the


rain








































does


the


butterfly


remember


the


caterpillar









































golden


daffodils


dipped


in


sunshine









































headlights


move


across


the


horizon



a


star


arcing


over


nights


sky









































woolly


white


clouds


suspended


in


air



cotton


balls


on


a


backdrop


of


blue









































the


ocean


spread


out



all


ripples


and


billows



a


sheet


in


the


wind



white


foam


frill


edged









































and


all


the


dreams


I


dreamed


when


i


was


in


my


youth




turned


out


to


be


illusions


where


they'd


promised


to


be


truth









































if


you


are


a


victim


of


anyone


it


is


of


yourself !









































he


ponders


his


own


demise




stirred


by


occasional


desultory


action




killed


off


by


apathy's


malaise









































the


last


of


the


leaves


drift


to


the


ground




their


edges


tinged


with


the


melancholy


of


autumn









































the


paradox


of


knowledge


the


more


i


learn


the


less


i


know









































disillusion


and


inertia


bind


him


a


hostage


of


death









































detached


and


disenchanted


we


dance




at


the


edge


of


a


chasm




i


look


for


the


ladder


bridges




you


gaze


into


the


distance


at


the


stars









































to


be


as


solid


and


reliable


as


the


rest


of


the


people


is


to


be


as


uninspired









































dominance


and


submission


in


degrees


of


light


and


shade


are


what


make


all


relationships









































no


matter


what


is


said


all


the


words


in


the


world


do


not


make


something


so




they


are


after


all


only


words









































insanity


is


as


much


what


you


don't


do


as


it


is


what


you


do









































andrew writes :




teenage


girls


are


wolves


consuming


with


infatuation





my


reply




infatuation


is


the


wolf


that


consumes









































you


can't


argue


with


infinity


she


gives


her


poems


where


she


will









































autistic


love




a


paucity


of


emotion


given




a


rationing


of


interest


shown




times


riches


often


spent




in


madness


and


irrational


places









































face


devoid


of


emotion


his


body


presses


against


hers




shifting


beneath


his


vacant


stare


she


strains


towards


white


waves


release




a


reservoir


of


tears


within









































keeping


personal


integrity


requires


an


effort


some


are


not


prepared


to


maintain









































sheets


of


shredded


liquid


twist


and


turn


blowning


horizontal


in


the


wind









































it's been my experience that charismatic people of either sex miss out on something intellectual









































he


sits


in


silence


on


THAT


chair



despite


her


warnings


to


beware




to


enrich


their


relationship


he


does


NOT


care




he


sits


in


silence


and


at


others


stares



why


does


she


bother


to


even


care




still


he


sits


in


silence


on


THAT


chair









































the


brilliant


hues


of


autumn


are


dripping


from


the


trees



piling


up


around


their


trunks


almost


to


my


knees



scarlet


red


and


russet


brown


form


deep


puddles


on


the


ground









































his


conversation


a


stitching


together


of


clichés


from


the


70's









































no


spontaneity




no


thrill


of


unexpected


delight




all


micro


managed


and


carefully


planned




no


surprise


no


impulse


no


light





--------------------





no


impulse


no


surprise




no


thrill


of


unexpected


delight



all


dull


all


plain


all


planned




no


wonder


my


urge


for


flight









































what


does


your


love


do


for


you


and


the


one


you


give


it


to



or


is


it


just


a


lonely


dance


to


fill


a


meaningless


life


not


romance









































i


was


not


drawn


into


silence




silence


captured


me









































each


new


summer


day


a


symphony


of


colour




buttercup


gold


clover


pink


azure


sky




forever


changing


palettes


renewed









































i've


never


been


good


never


been


good





i've


never


done


what


they


say


i


should




never


been


good


never


been


good




i've


only


been


able


to


do


what


i


could









































scent


from


the


rose


fell


sweet


on


my


tongue



----------------------



warm



air


full


of


rose


perfume


sweet


enough


to


taste









































the


blossoming


bud


of


a


kiss



opens









































coils


of


memory


rolled


up


in


the


dark



unfurl









































why


do


women


always


expect


more


of


men


than


they


are


capable


of




wistful


thinking


or


blindness


?









































moonbeams


drip


splashing


the


leaves


with


silver


splotches









































i


flash


through


the


stripes


of


shadow


and


sun


air


hanging


cool


in


the


dips









































he


writes


poems


but


will


he


eat


a





meal




next ?









































i


see


you


and


the


birds


sing


in


concert


with


my


heart


you


who


taught


my


heart


to


sing









































the


fragrance


of


his


skin


enters


me


like


a


thought









































thoughts


of


spring


written


on


her


face









































breeze


ruched



pale


gold



satin


water



revealed


by


rising


yellow


moon



which


is


lovelier









































skeins


of


blue


grey


incense


smoked


across


the


room









































time


lays


scrim


over


our


images


of


the


dead









































there's


the


sun


and


the


wind


and


a


field


full


of


wheat




and


eternity


held


in


a


day




but


it's


so


hard


to


reach




and


its


so


hard


to


hold




and


forever


is


rushing


away









































painting


poetry


and


music


open


the


doors


to


infinity









































we're


always


going


to


be


steps


beyond


each


other









































the


accumulation


of


knowledge


has


to


be


of


use


or


its


of


no


use









































there


is


a


power


in


indifferance




a


solitary


strength









































stuck


in


a


netherworld


between


life


and


death




don't


want


to


live


don't


want


to


die




what


will


i


do


and


who


am


i









































love


brings


us


so


close


in


teeth


and


bone


yet


leaves


us


standing


all


alone









































love


gets


so


close


to


teeth


and


bone




what


is


left










































not


as


much


as


you


think


and


less


than


you


rejected









































some


people


like


to


moan


and


bleat


don't


appreciate


gifts


laid


at


their


feet



then


howl


and


wail


when


the


gifts


go


missing




don't


want


to


see


they


lost


what


they


were


dissing









































obsession


how


much


of


you


has


been


withheld


from


me


but


given


elsewhere









































love


gives


as


much


injury


as


it


gives


reward









































a


person


can


be


gifted


and


see


life


and


others


clearly




that


doesn't


change


their


base


nature


or


how


they


behave









































what


men


just


don't


get



while


they


carry


on


so




is


women


are


not


turned


on


by


little


boys




if


you


want


to


attract


her



as


a


lover


not


a


mother




don't


behave


like


a


child


whose


lost


his


toys









































men


spare me !



moan


on


about


how


much


babies


and


menopause


rob


them




of


the


female


attention


they


seek


as


needy


children





not


a


thought


to


what


women


go


through




or


what


little


choice


they


have




its not the whole woman they want anyway just the cherry pickings


when it suits them of course


otherwise its smile


be quiet


look good


sex


a meal


cleaned toilets


no conversation of any worth





do


men


ever


grow


up




heaven


help


us


if


the


roles


were


reversed









































menopause


how


much


of


you


has


it


estranged


from


me









































no


man


should


be


allowed


the


right


to


voice


complaint


about


menopause


till


he's


been


through


it


himself









































soft


fears


flutter


in


visions


periphery









































you


might


meet


the


love


of


your


life


that


doesn't


mean


they


will


see


you


as


such






































the


price


you


pay


for


knowing


infinity


is


your


own


demise









































you


never


know


where


anythings


going









































what


isn't


weird


about


what


we


value









































whomever


paints


poor


addicted


dying


with


romance


hasn't


lived


it



who


paints


it


with


humour


has









































some


words


when


linked


are


best


left


unsaid




else


they


pile


up


like


bricks


you


can't


go


around









































there


are


countless


ways


for


a


lover



to


betray


their


other




large


betrayals


small


i've


seen


them


all




love


betrays


what


it


doesn't


smother




would


these


facts


change


should


i


take


another









































coral


fronds


streak


ocean


skies









































Yeah first thing i thought when i saw your post link, got that thread of dark thro


dandelions  painting has something





 a


dark


thread


squirms


in


some


van gogh


paintings









































through


numb


inertia


dreams


flow









































i


wish


so


many


silly


things




i


wish


that


i'd


been


born


with


wings









































my  reply :




man


was


born


into


the


world


rudderless


woman


was


born


his


helmsman









































its


not


the


dying


i'm


afraid


of




it's


the


leaving


you


behind









































you


cannot


separate


bukowski


from


the


alcohol


because


he


couldn't


write


without


it









































dark


road




night


lights




drivers


going


home




tendrils


of


mist


from


the


river



snake


low


across


the


road




caught


in


high


beam



dissipating


in


their


wake









































science


fiction


is



closer


to


infinity


than


religion









































i've


worshipped


at


the


temple


of


my


own


belief




there


is


no


need


to


follow


others





you've


got


what


you


need


within


yourself





the


ability


to


be


still


and


trust


your


own


visions









































oh


andrew


i'm


a


goner




hear


it


in


music


of


my


breath




every


slow


inhale


exhale




a


soft


wheezing


of


concertina


notes









































life


as


we


see


it


is


smoke


and


mirrors









































for


a


woman


the


shopping


experience


is


about


much


more


than


the


purchase


of


a


product









































when


you've


lost


everything



nothing


matters



when


you've


lost


everything









































winters


cool


sunlight


streams


on


dappled


water


circles


sparkle









































males


are


sly


with


no


skills


in


it




females


are


so


skilled


in


it



and


males


so


blind


to


it




it


goes


undetected


by


males


more


often


than


not









































a


weakness


of


male


thinking


is


a


broad


view


is


enough









































it's


no


good


taking


glory


from


someone else's


story









































don't


let


likes


and


dislikes


get


to


much


in


the


way









































we


can


only


be


the


centre


of


our


own


existance









































the


function


of


language


is


concealment



as


much


as


it


is


communication









































the


child


seeks


reassurance


the


woman


learns


to


live


with


the


truth