You are high

on the mountain
feel the wind

at your feet
below
there is nothing
but the silence
of the swirling
angels
which greet
with a whisper
and a smile
high
on the mountain
meanwhile
A route
there is
faintly defined
but straight
narrow
a faint crack to climb
Tha what?
It's mad
there's nowt but slime
Shhh
silence
slide within
the stereo-types
which begin
to peel and fade
as human nature
takes the stage

and thrives
on the reaction
of the audience
which tries
to keep abreast
to see the argument and rest
assured
but hark
'tis dark
a new beast has appeared upon the boards
what is this now
sword play with words which clash
smash and dash
See how the warriors intend to please
the maidens wo look on at ease
to see their champions fall
what ails them so
 be it the tall
giant
with strapping thighs
by the hammer of Onedin
this belies
the truth
who flies
arise, my Lars arise
To no avail
the chap is down
amongst the snails
which slowly spread
throughout the land
to bed
amongst the flies
dreams and night mares which arise
through mists of time
which flies

That deaf, dumb an'blind kid,

sure played a mean pinball

The flippers were right there. Lieing on the ground just as he'd found them.
Would they ever be used again?
Was diving down into the depths a thing of the past. Censored. Forbidden. Outlawed?
If so; by whom?
Could the ruins be resurrected. Would Lazarus walk?

The place was such a waste. Could humanity exist amongst such desolation?
Who could judge?
What once had been gardens watered by a fast flowing stream was now parched. Dust blew in
swirls. Little grew.Only the lizards, darting in and out of the crevices, survived.
A wooden door half ajar swung wearily in the wind. Creaking on its rusting hinges. Groaning. As if
in pain beneath the blistering sunlight.
The flippers were there. Would once again Dick find the courage needed to don a mask and dive?
Dive into the depths beneath the glistening surface shimmering reflections? Dive deep? Deeper than
ever before. For longer. For once down breath had to be maintained for rising. Mental control was a
must. Not only did the body need to be commanded to slow its metabolism, it had to be trained to
obey. Required to conform to the requirements imposed by a mind anxious to explore an alien
environment which, though invisible from the surface, was as beautiful and real as the reality he
was experiencing at this very instant. Yet instants themselves could cease to exist. Time could be
frozen in a silent dream.
Diving had taught him that.
Diving to the depths required discipline and quiet contemplation. Not only of oneself but also of the
environment and all who were part of it. For through observation and reflection links could be
established which enabled understanding to grow. Understanding of who one was, and who others
were whilst wearing an often ill-fitting unchosen hand-me down of a mask, or an off-the-
hypermarket-shelf disposable type. Home-made, hand-crafted, painted and varnished were such a
rarity one hardly saw them at all. Occasionally designer masks were casually discarded on the
beaches where they would gather sand which would settle amidst the jewels and jems with which
 they were incrusted. Sea-gulls would gather to pick at the morcels surrounding them. The wind
would howl whilst the incessant breathing of the sea rose and fell with the waves. For as the sea
breathed so did the diver. Harmoniously slipping into his environment he became a part of it to such
an extent that he faded into it. Invisibly moving through it as a phantom or wraithe. Slipping
through unnoticed he passed boundaries without being aware of their existence. Accepted
everywhere simply as part of the scene.Smiling with warmth and affection his smile switched on the
smile of others on the journey. A brief communion bonded between them in recognition of their
common humanity.Co-incidences confused until the recognition that such events were all part of a
dance, which was much greater in scope and in time than one could ever hope to imagine. Yet the
recognition of the co-incidences was essential to understanding their signification. Future action
following their interpretation could well be crucial in determining which directions to explore and
depths to fathom. Such decisions would in their turn determine outcomes and consequences
spreading out through time and space like the flaming fingers of dawn following the chirping
chorus which heralds its arrival every morn.

Networks
down
crashed
links disrupted
smashed

neurons
damaged cells
no communication
hell

circumbscibes
the place I am in
through my own doing
some sin or thing which displeased
the gods
who thus perceived
revenge was meet
and sweet
to taste
the folly of my act done
in haste
-a second's pleasure-
whose lees I drink
at my leisure
in this place
where I lie confined
within the space
time affords that I live
though in truth
i've nought to give
to others
except a warning
that they suffer
not
the same pain as I
being ex-communicated
from those who see
the state I'm in
yet not free
to chose
a way to tread
to escape
this death bed
on which i wait
thegods' verdict
to determine my fate

Can one ccommit

withiutbeing conscious
of the act?
Do
without self awareness in the doing

Experience
yet not feel

could such a state be

real?

Could one not always see

what one was up to
justify it
to see
oneself as one sets out
oneself
to be
come?

Pzefzction is
becoming
so that you do not know
you are
doing it
unconsciously
aware
of all
that is
within the compass
of the senses
detected
within the scope
chartered on the radar
logged
for assimilation, evaluation
as one learns
to please
the paying public with tricks that tease
the truth and lies
from interwoven threads entwined
within a multitude of lives
which co-exist, co-operate
within the fiction with no friction
in orbits rotating
in the streams of consciousness
flowing
with the words
within which each of us is growing
ever wise
to the sewing
of ideas
throwing seeds with love bestowing
light upon the ground
where flowers grow
amongst the ideas
which flow
whilst more seeds
we sew

For to him who hath

more shalt be given
and to he who hath not
the little he hath
will be taken away

For every task is worth its wage

whilst chattering tongues are needles which prick
their owners

Hall of Mirrors

Seeking reinforcement
a mirror one seeks
to reflect the reflections
one keeps
hidden from view
in a room
for two
selves who meet
in the silence
of the empty street
to exchange
words with themselves
estranged
in the silence
 where a third
waits
patiently
at the gates
of time
observing the play
on the line
as it becomes taught
and the self is sent spinning
to naught
for the memory of mankind
is short
lived in the span
of three score years
and ten!
Does the word
generate existence
being
created
within the mind

The concept
once named becomes
awakening
awareness
in what the 'I' may find

visualized
with understanding
word spun metaphores provide
terms of reference
time unwinds

consciousness called into being

aware of words within
the visualization
of the self
the word doth spin

a tapestry golden
weighted words create
the landscape of the imagination
where truth's beauty
loves to wait

a while beside the seashore

listening to the waves sing
stories as the clouds
shed tears to alay man's fears
as the stars slip round

Man wonders
at the marvel which meets his view
opens in amazement
discovering himself
in the world he knew, anew

Man is born within the wonder

over-powering word
which once created
echoes throughout time
unheard

Constructing
concepts in the mind
set of ideas
through which we walk
whilst time unwinds

fading memories which slide

into oblivion
with the words on which they ride
are abandoned
by the clamouring tide

of voices present which sing

the instant
breaking word within
the now
whose wing

rises ever higher

floating on the summer breeze
lightly bobbing on the surface
of the instant the image
the word doth seize

consciousness awakening
with the image borne
word creation
which the seeds of time do sporn
in silence

The answer is
within the framework
of the question
the silence
gives
Rise to meaning
words transport across the seas
of time awareness
of being
created

By the Word
reflected metaphor
within
the image which the silent
word doth spin.

Word-framed
wisdom creaking
vessel
leaking
with the passage
through

The straights of time

within which
word seeds blue
took route
within the rotation
anew

Gift borne
word hued wisdom
grew
amidst the ruins
where
the word-framed wisdom flew

hither and thither

dropping seeds which sprouted
amidst the ashes
and dust which drew
aside
to let the crescent moon shaped wisdom ride

High above the skudding clouds and tide

of nightfall which engulfed with pride
the meaness of the streets which cried
for the beauty which the truth belied
in the word-framed wisdom prized
from the arms of the hornèd moon which died

beneath the sea which rose

beneath the word-framed creaking vessel
which goes
hither and thither
where only silence
flows.

Where doth a wordsmith work

but in the imagination of the soul
crafting the vessels to transport
ideas whole

Passages of eternity
with the light one stole
up unexpected
upon death's timeless toll

where words in graveyards lie

silent beneath the weeping
willow beneath the sky
where silent words flit by

The wordsmith's art

crafted words take form
coined in the ring
of consciousness where begins

The being they describe

breathing with the life
which the wordsmith doth inscribe
within the word

struck verse
transported through the instant
which never is
rehearsed

Though memorized
in the word-spun imagination
by the poet prized
from loss

awakened awareness
conscious borne thereof
being
word-crafted on the wing

soaring in the silence

naming of the thing
whose beauty truth
doth both ring and sing.

Open the trap-door of the mind

descend to walk
with Christ
amongst the blind
to lead to light
the way
to flight
to flee the fray
in search of Might
remain humble
midst the darkness
of the night
to blindly grope
the silent word of hope
given charity of love
heaven sent
from above
to cling to as a rafy
held fast
amidst a raging sea
of indifference without
which the the world would yet be
were it not for one who walked
beside the sea of Galilee
and taught
for slaves to be free
to walk
beside the sea
beneath the tree
No connection
lines down
dead
all these words must remain
stored
inside my head
awaiting
escape
into the universe
alone they make
a world
in which to swim
through the current of time
a word within
liberates the mind
setting it free to find
like minded souls
with whom to share
a word and care
for one another in exchange
for the company gained
in loving glances
whilst love
slowly dances
the night away
in their hearts
love's here to stay
a while
in the silence
of a smmile
and tender touch
which to the lovers
means so much
more than words can say
for love is theirs
within the play
they become
one another
creating an item whole which breathes
the air love leaves
in its wake
a crafted boat to carry
the two who row
whilst the number in the boat doth grow
with the love
the lovers sew
whilst their love transforms
the universe
as swans glide
through the matter
on which they ride
together
ever one
until love's final
swan song
their world doth break
as each alone
its fate awaits.

Off the radar

off the map
there's no connection
no chat
wit
nor repartee
only live
humanity to go and see
touch and hear
before going back home
with a flee in one's ear
to scratch
in the souvenir
of what might have been
naught but
a nightmarish dream.

The 'I' has entered

an internet free space
the world wide web
didn't trawl

freedom existed
from the ties and links
of all
incoming mail
dominating
word
'google' 'spam' were unheard
comminication
was real
'twixt folks
who touched to feel
the weight of love
bouy
the soul of the ship ahoy
upon whose mast
flags of convenience hung askance
as the word was shipped
with the wter
through which the boat slipped
in the currrent of time
slipping past the boughs
whose shadow sublime
was cast
with the word
upon the tongue's last
forged frame
work to describe
the world
inscribed
in the wisdom
the truth belied

Strange to think
this place was once
under the domination
of the English
who from the North
and East
spilt over
to reach
these shores
pillage and plunder
the mores
and stores
to rifle
anything which was a trifle
touch
in wonder and awe at such
beauty
in a word or smile
meanwhile
without a second
glance
time stole a charge
upon a lance
which split asunder
the word of God which turned to thunder
splitting Man from gods asunder
as Man turned
to love the lost
light of the word
once gone
Time knew no wrong
though might
did surely demonstrate that which was
so right
whilst the wordsmith could
but write
the wrongs
went unheralded
in song
unsung
which waited
whilst it weighted
the truth with lies
though timeunlocked
flies.

Hark the gods and goddesses reign

on earth men and women vain
are both but one and the same.

'The godless man who walks the street

finds nought but headaches at every corner he meets' Julian Jaynes …'....Bicameral mind'

Possessed the poet

is out of his mind
senseless
inspired
listening to the divine
voices
within which sing
the son to which he
a mortal
endevours to sing along
with the Muses whom he hears
in Olympius as he nears
the heights
where mortal men take fright
he soldiers on
inspired in dreams
his guided feet
climb the seams
as listening in observation fast
he climbs the jagged pinnacle at last
to see
the world spread beneath his feet
but Lo! Now the devil must he meet
within
and force himself to listen and sing
to be tempted
not
by all the devil shows could be
got
be the coin reversed
but the weary poet is well versed, prepared, spared
the ordeal is past
the wordsmith may compose at last his song
whilst the devil be forced
to sing along
in vain
the music strains, uplifts, for silence is the poet's gift
to bring to light, illuminate
the heart within
the apple ate
to the core
within the silent metaphor of sound
where symphonic souls resound, abound
unbound
Prometheus harps
the lonely poet, harks
the muse within commands
the poet sings
the words he hears
climbing in silent truth he nears
beauty
waiting where
the clouds are borne within the air
he sings
approaching softly on silent wings
whilst to the music he harks and clings
observing all
around him toil
and strain
his wingèd feet rise again
to the task
beneath the poet's mask
the pen doth scrape
the music which the words do weight
with the burden to be shared
and so a wait in hell be spared
as the garden gates are opened wide
the poet with his verses slides inside
the gates shut fast
the wordsmith at once is free at last
to roam
where the clouds do have their home
midst mountain peaks
the home of truth which beauty speaks
whilst time runs on
the poet listens
echoing the silent song
as the river runs on and on...
the poet's muse has turned
and gone
leaving him in a trance
heeding the silent Lord of the dance
play on
in symphonic silent soundless song.

'The godless man who walks the street

finds nought but headaches at every corner he meets' Julian Jaynes …'....Bicameral mind'

Possessed the poet

is out of his mind
senseless
inspired
listening to the divine
voices
within which sing
the son to which he
a mortal
endevours to sing along
with the Muses whom he hears
in Olympius as he nears
the heights
where mortal men take fright
he soldiers on
inspired in dreams
his guided feet
climb the seams
as listening in observation fast
he climbs the jagged pinnacle at last
to see
the world spread beneath his feet
but Lo! Now the devil must he meet
within
and force himself to listen and sing
to be tempted
not
by all the devil shows could be
got
be the coin reversed
but the weary poet is well versed, prepared, spared
the ordeal is past
the wordsmith may compose at last his song
whilst the devil be forced
to sing along
in vain
the music strains, uplifts, for silence is the poet's gift
to bring to light, illuminate
the heart within
the apple ate
to the core
within the silent metaphor of sound
where symphonic souls resound, abound
unbound
Prometheus harps
the lonely poet, harks
the muse within commands
the poet sings
the words he hears
climbing in silent truth he nears
beauty
waiting where
the clouds are borne within the air
he sings
approaching softly on silent wings
whilst to the music he harks and clings
observing all
around him toil
and strain
his wingèd feet rise again
to the task
beneath the poet's mask
the pen doth scrape
the music which the words do weight
with the burden to be shared
and so a wait in hell be spared
as the garden gates are opened wide
the poet with his verses slides inside
the gates shut fast
the wordsmith at once is free at last
to roam
where the clouds do have their home
midst mountain peaks
the home of truth which beauty speaks
whilst time runs on
the poet listens
echoing the silent song
as the river runs on and on...
the poet's muse has turned
and gone
leaving him in a trance
heeding the silent Lord of the dance
play on
in symphonic silent soundless song.

Lost in the forest

of the wide wood of the world
listening
to the song of the birds
high
in the trees
listening
to the voices
within me
guide
the trajectory
on which I glide
above the sea
whose waves
look up
at me
a cloud
I wander
lonely
as a shroud
of dust
to whose home
return one day
I must
til then I'll stay
zen
all the way
listening
to the song
as along the path
I move
…..................................in song

10.10pm

The wheel turns

the heat burns
the ferns
wave still upon the hill
the cricket learns
silence echo spurns
the wait thickens
twists
hardens, risks
topple
slide
afar, wide
the swallows glide
twisting, tuning the fly doth hide
the silent echo
dried
the matriarchal rut
downtrodden male
doth stride and strut
his stuff of pride
cock eyed
to comprehend
the bat's descent
catching flies as it flies
wise
as it strives
to outwit
zig-zaging its way
at the end of the day
whilst the hay
ferns
sway
away

To be conscious of one'self is to see

one's self, to scan one's movements, analyse
the whys and wherefores as one tries
to introspect, to delve within, to see beneath the skin
to be aware of that which is foul and fair
to see the I within the me
I lie, I spy, I peep, investigate the slightest squeak and creak of aging limbs
poetic whims of imaginative flight which just might
some poetic truth illucidate or shine
a light on some forgotten shrine
illuminate with stolen light
the knowledge of a long gone night
well wooded beneath the moon's sight
when Man lived by his wits
fused, into the landscape hued
blended in, camouflaged, and from his hide
observed that of which he was part
fit in, for things did not fall apart, the centre was not
held, nor could it hold events yet to unfold
yet, to survive, the fittest were fit to hide
behind the mask the truth belied
the conscious awareness on which I espied
from my hide, listening intently to that without
harking the mirrored music of language about
around; bouncing back and forth
like bird song flowing its course
throughout the day, cresendos, silences, would have their say
in the matter I observed, the threats, the violence heard
the push and shove of power
define territorila space and tower with might
self-justification and right
with wielded sword put up a fight
when folk such as the Dalai Lama took flight and fled
in fright and trembling fear when the menacing roman army drew
near those at prayer with weapons by their sides
awaiting their hour to come but not to ride
away and hide midst the recesses of the mind
observing the treasures they were likely to find
for one knew that a coin hath sides two faces struck
bicameral as the mind must be, mathematical as the silence one may see
weight, await, beneath a tree where a cloak be
torn in twain, patched, fragments of imagination snatched
woven words within the cloth
shrouded in history and memory loss
of all one can not see, the fading echo of humanity
voiced on the cross, awaiting an answer, a prophet yet
not at a loss for words to condemn
to praise, exalt, raise, towards the hallucinatary
side of the coin of the bicameral mind
conscious, aware, of the existence, of being,a
where
elsewhere
on the other side
of the bicameral mind
flowing river of time
in which all flow alike
towards the ocean of death
through which the current still flows
into the future, time always goes
through space at a differing pace
depending on time and distance spun
in the web of words run
out on the timeline on which the light of consciousness doth shine
like the full moon in the tomb of the night
when only the stars shine bright
reflecting the past
flickers of humanity fast
disappearing beneath the waves
of unsung soldiers' graves
for the folly of war and the madness of man are abroad once more
midst the greed and desire
to build an ever higher funereal pyre
whose smoke billows at large
across all continents doth it barge and ram
battering destruction and mayhem
upon all that lives
off the land which gives
as it turns
as it burns
swathes destroyed
armies deployed, decoyed, the battle doth rage
for booty and plunder is the wage
the earth must bear
warming to the warning wilt the earth fare
well to alms given in vein
as the toll mounts do not ask the name
of those for whom it tolls for 'tis I
think only this of me
blythe spirit, bird thou never ar't
hail to thee
wandering lonely as a shroud
or wraithe
my corpse carrion 'ate by dogs and crows
for dogs in deed do so
the seeds of time which flow
in the streams of consciousness I know
in the now through which I go
awakened to the awareness I show
compassion for those whom I know
suffer as they row
the body across the sea
towards the port of their chosen destiny
to be
free of the chains of liberty cast
in the past
of the storm struck sea
of symbols though which I wander
midst the minted words freshly coined
ringing with the wisdom purloined
from the ancient see
I observe, reflect upon all which I have heard
tell
of the death knell
which set me free
to hallucinate
in the bicameral
mindset
of Homer
as I hark
to the voices
in the dark
I lie
listening
to the entrances and exits
on the stage
of the world
mirrored
in the wardroom
in which
I rest my head
listening to the life support machine
and the music
inside my head
as I wonder
how
long will it be before I am a liein'
in my very own
best bed
shared
with the water
which fell long ago
perhaps as snow
in Asia
for all I know
is this
the future shared with the past in the present lives.

Huit-clos

encircled
recognised
in the pecking order
classified
denied, put down, disregarded
labelled
as belonging to some lower order, caste
out, aside; rejected, neglected
drivers of homicide
not
for youth begets change for what
flattens existing hierarchies
erasing barriers, sets free
the encircled beast which flies
heavenwards towards the skies
dethroned; the beast usurped
the imagined creature lurks
inside the tricks and lies
told to escape the imaginary encirclement
which waits
within
the shadowed past which haunts the future to the last
souvenir which gathers dust amidst the attic's memory whzere rust
and moths devour the past which crumbles
at last to change
release the golden fleece
which never fades
reflecting love borne light throughout its days
and nights when it shines bright, a star
revealing where we are
not yet at
but move towards
over the flats
of sand washed wind swept time
dissolved amidst the misted eye which reminiscing
sees the loved ones missing
the rôle call to arms
and mask
the earhly shadows past
held captive in the mind
prisoners of ourselves who bind
and gag
the silence
to bag the voices which we fear
would tell the truth we hold so dear
to our heart and part
the hidden hierarchy
in a way in which we would no longer be
so
indiscriminately unjust; unfair
where
but in the conscious mind
can those see, though they be blind?
For see! All share the same bed of clay or sea
the thread of silence ywixt all
humanity bound
enchained, enslaved
to the ideas which set it free!

Creating

One wondered as his hand tapped on the letters of the

ketboard.was he hallucinating? Was daydreaming
enriching ?If so,why? Would finding a piece of driftwood
and sculpting it create a closer contact between himsejf and
the universe?Such contact could only be beneficial since it
would increase the feeling of belonging, participating in the
exploration of a wider world.Discovering the loams of
realities had become his obsession.He desired to do.in
doing, experience.The rich texture of life had to be tasted,
absorbed, understood.
He had to know.Observvation helped.intuition
too.Experiment.rules were for ignoring.The thrill lay in
their breaking.
How he loved to mimic. Strange how people repeated the
same stuff.words.sentence
sttructures.questions.answers.Wore the same clothes,day in,
day out.Created an identity they had to live up to.Unable to
let go.Blend in.
Camealeon like one knew he himself could chew the
cud.Nay loved. No greater satisfaction was to be had than
being welcomed wherever he went.>>>Making folk
smile.Girls dream.A jack of all trades, a master of
disguise.Who was he? What was his real identity is the
question which he set out to explore.How?
By observing his own behaviour.performanceon the world's
stage.Examining the roles he wrote for himself and
others.looking at the masks which he hid in his
cupboard.Why?
To create another, more creative character. More creative
than himself. More inventive. For inventing mechanical
contraptions, best of all from bits and bobs found by the
wayside. Oh how he loved to be a womble, making use of
stuff other folk leave behind. And leave behind didn't they
just. No sooner unwrapped than thrown. The dream rotting
on the rubbish heap amongst the discarded glossy
magazines advertising the latest state of the art stuff. How
folk were stuffed. Dreams prefabricated to become a must-
have-be seen with. Maslow's hierarchy of needs gone mad.
A pyramid of lies of Madoff proportions. Made off air.
Speculative bubbles which burst on the scene of the crime
unseen.
Speculating was another love. Which shares would be
winners and why? Not that he stood to gain much. Best
change that though and open up another personality-the
canny investor shrewdly playing the (3100cac40) stock
market. Only one way to rise. Buy with the bounce!
Let the gods take over, let their will be done
soak up nature's beauty, as through life we run
looking to the future, where we want to be
following a plan of action, unilaterally
stay the course, enduring hardship and not entertaing
fools ' discourse. Take heart from failure,
learn the mrssage past, analyse the behavior and words
reflect in silence, study the ways; slip into the background
pray through out the days, live life to the lees;
touch the beauty of everything one sees
frrl the energy flow; never crase to give
kind hearted affection to all who live
sharing the same air, drinking from the same cup wherever
one's footsteps fall listen to the environment, draw
inspiration from the past-follow mentors with sight
illuminate the pathway leading through the night
treat all as equals share all faiths and creeds
yet remain true to oneself, listening to one's needs
to be able to flower reaching fullfilment upon the hour
let dreams come true, listening to the wisdom
which you have in you, accumulated in the silent words
listen to the gods, let their voices serve
the future, in the instant run
maintain a healthy balance, as through life you run
towards the goals which you have established, following your nose
let intuition play its part, listen to the logic
from both mind and heart!

See the Makak in the man, the god

living in dreams created on the nod
and words which weave the cloak of wisdom
to protect us in the lives we lead
as we follow the path once trod
by the Makak man-god-bod!

Creativity from the right side

logic from the left
weave the words of wisdom
in life's weft!

Paint a tapesrty of colour

with many a colored thread
woven in the words
let the voice of silence never cease to be heard!

Learn by doing what others show

can be done through hard work
-let your talent show
the world of what you are made
from the fruit of the world nature gave
for the worl is both cradle and grave
stone which stands apart
in the universe- it has a living heart
beating in all which breed
transmitting life's current
through time's celestial seas

stay in touch with your resources

let their voices shout
refuel the reserves, let the silence out!

See the paradox

what goes in comes out
in the flow of time
let the silence shout
louder than the words
which are only fit to serve
the primordial silent echo heard
in the silent night
when metaphors took flight
to seed the stuff of dreams
flowing with the might
powering the will to live
despite the hardship
endured in the task
the metaphors formed a craft
highly skilled in art
transmitting the message
engraved in the heart
to fill an arc
which the archer could flex
showering metaphors
from this world to the next
as the bow was bent
seeded seeds of time and space
were metaphored and sent
to distant lands and ports
through chakras to the heart
of the bicameral mind
which fell apart
from one who fused to fuel the flow
of the seeds of time which the universe did sew
watered from the sweat which left the archers' brow
in the evolutionary metaphor which never ceased to grow
old with time
as the beauty of the truth was borne in the rhyme
which faded and fell
from grace
as the spirit flew pn through time and space
in the arroow of love which sets aquiver
both the receiver and the giver
who fuse the bicameral halves together and use
the skills which they have found
deep within themselves in resources underground
where streams flow clear
reflecting the beauty of the silent truth we hear
all arouund
in the music of the universe
transmitted in sound
of a frequency so low
that although we cannot hea it, we just know
by intuition
we listen to the gods
within ourselves, daemons and bods
engineered to evolve, to survive
as to fit in all strive
to be at one
with the silent song!
Once upon a time a young man found himself face to face with the devil. Of course he succoumbed
to the wekness and,temted; stole the gold waych with which he was confronted.
Weeks later, filled with remourse, he suspended it in a tree. A robin hood of a gesture. Years later, at
table with the owner of the aforesaid watch, he was accused, pleaded guily, and pardoned, without a
word being said.
The communication was in the form of images and allusions.Each party distinctly being aware of
the dialogue.
Strange.

At table, years later, the self-same thief seemed to think-and perhaps he was again hallucinating,
that thoughts flowed around -from one to another, without a word being said. Or rather, a word, or
sentence was said which would evoke the concept of power, staus. Then ideas would flash,
transmitting that there was a hierarchy, a pecking order, in which the aforesaid thief was at the
bottom. Stranger, indeed, was the idea that the thief didn't give two hoots as to whether he was at
the botttom or not! Who could give a damn when there was a wider circle outside, and outside of
that another, and another...to the extent that, wherever one was, there was always another circle of
controlling power and influence, so that 'power' in the abstract sense, didn't exist. After all, who can
tell what tpmorrow will bring?

Conclusion
language is but one aspect of commmunication. Body language is another.
Is there a deeper layer of transmission? Doubtless. A common cultural heritage, shared since the
cultural crossings of peoples migrating, has evolved.
Wonderings, speculation, weighing up the balance in which ideas are spilt. Whose ideas? Which?
How many? Why When?
Calling into question the exxistance of the instant, the thief stole a march on time and made off with
the booty. On arriving home he discovered that his sack, casually slung over his shoulder, was
empty. Time had stolen the items which he himself had stole.
Oh, the thief! Perhaps one day the aforesaid items would be returned to their rightful owners!
Meanwhile the prisons grew in both size and number.
Many is the fellow who has found the unwelcoming walls to their liking!
Sad, but true.
Start from scratch-spill the beans
what exactly does hallucinate mean?
Dream? Hear voices, commands
see a mirage in the sands of time and space
using words as metaphors build a new race
of gods from men, hallucinating when
they write the script or score
drugged, drunk, wanting more
words with which to weave a plot
which thickens with the words they jot
creating tapestries of sound when sung
and the hallucinating has begun
to spread amongst the living-dead who wait
hoping to hallucinate in their turn
as they sing along to the words they learn
by heart to carry them through the deep night dark
in ecstacy on L.S.D. or crack they' re not
though off their heads, not on pot
they are unaware of what they are going through
sobre as a judge, emotions high
they walk on earth yet seem to fly
and feel no pain, absorbed by the hypnosis
of the word-game in which they fling
themselves with the songs they sing
whilst belief steals over them like a thief
to snatch them far away, into a foreign land
of thought where windmills are giants to be fought
whilst Sanchez waits upon his Master who hallucinates
upon the cross the burden brings its own hallucinatory wings
to fly into the other side of the bicameral mind
of man or apes, which lack the gift of speach
yet seem a similar state to reach
as they listen, aware of the jungle music where
each sound and song carries a message to dream on
unaware of who they are, nor where
completely lost, far away, in a promised land
or paradise beyond the now, time's sunk
beneath the horizon, drunk by the sea
of image framed cinématic ecstasy of sound
filled space, where they move as beings of another race
mere gods, or men, apes, dream on!

Speed of thought

Once one can type as fast as one thinks

words flow, sink, onto the screen
become material, seen,
heard, inside the voice, of the typed word
that's gone with the ending of the song
for creation with a 'C' evolves with language
throughout history
taking twists and turns purists and puritans spurn
aloof
looking upon the world created word
in truth to see
the word created world set free
to roam across the mind
of the hallucinating poet as time unwinds
the plot unfirls, unfolds, unlocks, sets free
the imaginative twirls of fantasy
which feed in flight
the unbound Prometheus
with light to steel
the captain's turning wheel
whilst the world rolls on
through time and song
the twists are turned
whilst prophetic words of warning spurned
lay bear
the cloth of what we wear
to hide
the nakedness shied
knowledge enflamed
mythological paradise regained
in flight
through a star-lit night
where the hornèd moon rises
with the waves
washing
on the shores of days
wiped clean
by the silvery moonsheen.

Osiris

In the great all-seeing I

dwells the death that life cast by
spells of time and spells of place
language forged human race
withered, parched, bone-white
stars gliding through a moonless night
betwixt billowing clouds which blow
across the land I wish to know
for what it's worth
to be a god upon this earth
and walk with kings
hallucinating in the voice which sings
whilst those who listen enter in
can do naught else but sing
crafted songs of love to ride
upon the billowing clouded skies
which sweep across the landscape sweet
and wait at death's silent opened gate
step inside; say goodbye to the glorious ride
upon the steed of life, twixt the turmoil, trouble, sttrife
and gently go, into the realm of death below
where waits silence, dust and ash
spent breath which no longer laughs
nor cries, simply empty, open skies
filled with wandering woes and whys which cry
beneath the empty, vacant I
waiting alone yet wondering why
the spell hath come to pass
the time and tide spent in the grass
where dreams were reached in scenes
hallucinated using means
to bring the word to life
resussicitating the spirit drawn from the well
of consciousness where death did dwell
within the tomb, mirrored earthy boxom womb
wherein, life, death, did begin
to grow within the seed that Man did sew
evolving from the apes
hammucinating amid the wakes
word-crafted life endured
until at last by death was skewered
to lie within the silent I
and wait, before the universe to navigate
a way to another sun-blessed day
and night within the spell of Might
which reigns throughout the land of names
where words designate the objects heard
to live and move with the power of love
which lifts the spirit borne gifts and dwells
in the silent time-spun spells
of which I speak
through the voice of Osiris's beak
where I observe the absolute through my eye
which turns, with the spell the word returns
to reign throughout the land of names
which speak the past the present seeks
to ride the glorious billowing timeless tide
of spells within which I
navigate the wandering why and cry
beneath the billowing blood-stained sky
my words unheeded go, for thus it is and should be so
that Man may see the hollowness of death's victory
for the seeds of time once sewed
fall within the debt now owed
to the reaper with the scythe
who cuts the corn and sies
as the last breath flows past
questions wither, peace flows at last
life's work be done, beneath the watery golden sun
which sets towrds the west
to rise; once more, in eastern skies
and speak of the love amongst the meek
which lives within the wonderous words they speak
drawn from the well of life which flows
from whence; nor where, none knows
yet as they sing the word resounds within the ring
opposites fight, presided by an overriding Might
which waits enchanted by
the hallucinating, wandering, all seeing I.

Get me some cash

Quick
Do a job
I need to last the night and fast!

Hooker
To sweep the streets
for love
of money
Men
I'll meet
who'll swear
that I'm the cause
of their despair!
Get your gear on
look the part
remember who you are
a tart!

Who lets you live

and buy
the shit you use
to get you high

None of your lip, my love

 or perhaps you miss
another dose
of this!
(fist bangs heavily on an open door)
Planet
earth
ronde
la terre
tourne
tout le temps
autour du soleil
dans un silence
profond

somewhere
in space
des morceaux des vers
des fragments
se posent
se figent
dans du prose
exprimant ainsi
que l'homme dispose
les moyens pour criée, créée
himself
as he grows
time flows
black holes
absorb the spiraling silence
which explodes
the myth
man
is
I
alone
crossing the desert dunes of sand
blown wind
swept
s
p
a
c
e

t
i
m
e

«Pray go back and recollect »

please
a prayer, requesting aid, a staff, a guide
from the Lord
a listening to one's voice
as one speaks; begs, re-quests
an inner voice to speak
hallucinate
hear in dream like state
an answer
as on the cross we bear
we wait
whilst in the seeking accept what we are given
our daily bread-baked in an oven
think how many have been involved,
the farmer, transporter, miller, baker,...
see the location of the Lord who is
in heaven- elsewhere than on earth it seems
halloed be thy name-sanctified
as we beg for forgiveness for our trespasses
from the Lord
we see the sins, regret the crossing of the line which Moses heard, inscribed in stone,Thou shalt not
plus verb, noun, phrase
thus see the path to stick to, supported by a stick or staff or shepherd's crook
we look
to where we leap, see the chasm beneath our feet which opens wide as o'er the gaping pit we glide
Our Father
Our common protector as we believe
in a childhood state we slide, hallucinate
believe
see Christ in ourselves surrounded by thieves
this day
for sufficient unto the day are the evils thereof
consider the fowls in the air and lillies in the field,they spin not nor do they reap
hallucinating we might live from alms
as we forgive others that trespass against us
bearing no grudges which weigh down the soul with a bitter poison to devour us whole
lead us not into temptation
requesting to be led
on the straight and narrow path
and deliver us from evil
get us out of the mess
for thine is the kingdom
the realm in which we walk
the power and the glory
we are humble and weak
for ever and ever
ad infinitum
which is rather a long time span
Amen
so be it. Be it thus. Be it so. Be it. So
Who cares. Be it my personal foolosofy thus far . So?
We are in a childlike state, asking for alms, living in dreams, hallucinating, or so it seems
we are not in control of our fate. The Lord decides. We simply wait. Passively. Dalai-Lama like.
Foregiving those who drop the bombs which wipe out our faith. We avoid fight in flight relate.
But only an aethet can live like this for long. In a cave. Under a tree. Bhudda like. A Yoga.
Meditatingman. Lost in thought. Drifting through his dreams. His? Hallucinatory experience.
Guides. Escape. A kingdom or realm. The bicameral mind opens its doors to paradise. Jesus on the
cross turns to the thief who defended him as he tells him where he will be, later. A pathway to be
explored.Thus the mind is enriched, not bored, and sparkling grows, glows, glitters in the
dark.Fools gold?Hark. A bird. What message doth it bring hast thee heard? 'Tis Love. Open to the
heaven, to the Lord above. A treasure trove of overflowing abundant love.
Love one another, said the Lord
for Moses said « Thou shalt not ….»
plus verb
whereas the word from the Lord
the verb
was love
and peace
though his supporters drew swords
turned to ploughshares...later in the story to come
as Christ enabled the soldier to hear, replacing his ear.
Heed thy voice.
Pray.

Hear the new word and wonder. What on earth was wrong with the old? Why did it have to be
replaced? Something better. Spaced? For the old was for desert nomads, wandering exiles in search
of a promised land where milk and honey would flow. Hark. What has become of it now?
What seeds of weeds did the new word sew?
Is it Christ we see with a sword in his hand? His followers maybe though he said they were wrong.
Even now. Watch the smile on the Dalai Lama's face. Read the understanding he sees in his faith.
Krishnamurtin too shows deep disdain towards organised religion. Perhaps each one of us has to
fashion his own cross which will carry the weight of one's body. Dieing to see the creation of a new
(promised) eternity stretching forth. A new landscape. Testimonied by witnesses who brought the
message of love to a matrirarchical peace loving race in a mythological present from another place.
Out of Egypt I brought my son.Moses.Jesus. Why only one?
Reflecting a mirrored surface which lies hidden beneath the star studded skies which turn in flight
through the dark shadows of a mid-summer's night? Reflecting the seasons the metaphor raised a
new image on graves, aligned standing stones which slipped out of mind, no longer needed as the
road did unwind.
Hallucinating. Did it matter a toss? Heads or tails at what cost?
Study the coin.
An Emperor. A Queen. Uncle Sam. A face on one side. The other, bicameral, reflects the
unchanging evolutionary mind. In dreams, who cares what is seen, as long as something is? Being
created in a never ending fizz emanating from within the neurological nerve ends and cells under
the skin reacting to stimulii- the magic created by the seeing Aye. Accepting ('Yes, I will yes,...'
Ulysses says, at the end of the book when he goes to bed...Penelope.)
For will comes from willing, will power, willingness, determination rather than force, as in shall.
Will implies wanting as well. For nothing comes lightly.Everything has a cost. Living in the
imaginary implies loss. Of what? In giant structures Man may rise. Abandoning understanding
seeking power brings demise. Thus a new religion is required to be true.
For we all live in dreams, rags and screams. Alcohol kills the imaginitive streak. Logic is destroyed
in the leap. Stewing in filth, lacking clarity, clear-sightedness takes a hit. To water add wine. Mix
the two to dilute the fruit of the vine, take the sting from its curse, withdraw the poison or worse.
For drunkeness is an addiction to avoid. Stay clear of the bottle for its contents destroy.
Exercise the muscles, stay fit. The fittest survive, into society fit. Exercising the brain, exercising
the mind. Mental gymnastics ward off going blind. Use it or lose it the bicameral mind. Both
halves, the coin is yours to sew. Invest in the future, the truth you will show by your actions and
grace-both will flow should you follow your faith. Dig and delve. Up-turn. Plough. Sew and water,
live in the now. Accept paradox and contradiction in searching God. You'll find him waiting on the
path which you've trod in disguise. Maybe a stranger. Foreign ways. Wise. Seek wisdom in all that
you do. Search the roots as you sew. Go with the flow.When those around you have had enough. Be
off. Don't hang back. Seek new horizons.Put the old at your back. Waive goodbye. Be prepared to
return in the wink of an aye!
Oh welcome stranger, what news dost thou bring? Come in, eat, drink and spill the beans on the
plate.Come now, be forward, it's getting late! For news is what we all need. To keep up to date, to
mentally feed our imagination must have, news from foreign parts to be had.

(a line from p.232 of w james -relig, exp;

Lose yourself, lost in silence

hear the voices, remebered
instants engrained in memory
enchained
Hark and heed
those voices
from the past
to warn us
guide us
through the days
when haze benights us
listen hard
to those beside us
whom we hear
though when we turn
are no longer there
to guide us
but lo!
A voice, beside us, whispers, where
the land meets the air
and sea
stretching to infinity, flee,
into the dreams and space
within the hallucinating race
of primates
mamals, warm blooded which
took the cloth, though dropped a stitch
to fall
in silence
from a wall
to find
the mystrious bicameral mind which split
the apple in two to fit
the hunch-backed fool's wit
which flew
like an arrow, straight and true
to rest
in the heart of the silent quest
where words were vain
attempts to name
the fathomless depths beneath the waves
washing on the beach
to those enslaved
to ancient ideologies, mythologies, egyptologies,phenologies,
to see
the infinite arc
of a circle with neither heart, nor centre, which unfolds
in an infinite number of directions untold
is the truth that remains to be said
infinite is the beauty inside the head
where the bicameral mind
heeds to the wisdom
which winds
and unwinds with the waves
washing on the beach
where truth lies enslaved
in the sand
awaiting the wisdom
to hand
the truth to those
aware of the mystery love only knows
For love sets free
the silent word
in thee
to roam,
as the Lord in thy soul doth find a home to dwell
awhile in thy earthly sheen
which bears
the enlightened burden of worldly cares
which fall
with the weight of the apple inside the wall
where a serpent sleeps, with open eye, peeps,
through the forest of metaphors
at the symbols of words which spell
the beginning and end
to the water in the well
which flows
through the river
which love only knows
flows.Word flows
follow where folk
music grows
seeded in the mind
aye
folk be of'en blind
to the changing flow
which time and tide
can not know
for words they sew
the seeds of song
which flourish in the land
to which they belong
in the winds which blow
such seeds which flow
with the words they sing
to the music which
folk fling
like stars through space
shining
the brilliance of the human race
ape-like,yet clothed
shrouded in grace
as gods
apace
do spring
with the words
the music doth bring
joy and life
to hide the pain
of worldly strife
which bleeds
as Man
falls to his knees and pleades
for mercy, heaven sent
once his life, his days, are spent
to go to paradise
hallucinating
avoiding strife
he sees
the answer to his pleas
lies
in the other half
or side
of the bicameral mind
opened wide
to the joys
which dreams do bring
to the words
the pain doth sing
as the dance moves on
the Lord of the dance
flows with the song
unpeturbed by time
flowing within
the seeds of rhyme
which seed
both the flower
and the weed
for by
the fruit of the tree
is one recognised by
the forbidding 'Aye!'
which forbodes
the baby's cry
and fears that all
will end in tears
as the word moves on
in the dance
of song
which knows not
right from wrong
for in the flow
the word has gone
the tide erased
words which were in sand engraved
in stone
within the heart
of the throne of kings
within which
the silence sings.

Snap- out of it, stop- dreaming

compelling words imparting meaning
Head in the clouds inspiration seeking
entrance into a hallucinatory state
kingdom
or realm
where the dreamer is at the helm of the ship
awareness taught
tasting the wind like a snake
scenting the air
assessing the odds
observing the stars
listening to the gods
guide
o'er the oceans
the ship that doth glide
to survive
riding the surf
keeping one's wits about one
razor-sharp
down to the wire
in the dark

hull of the mind

ishipping water in a vessel which leaks
listening to the silence which speaks
observing the world and its ways
seeing how folk go about their days
engaged in occupations which tire
a dreamworld exists from which one can fire
engines which drive
to survive
emergencies unforeseen
slip into the mode of acting in dreams
single-mindedly following the course
on the compass indicating North
instinctively slave
to the unreasonable demands from the voice from the grave
side of the mind
which takes over when the ship runs aground
on the rocks in the eye of the storm
when all around is completely calm
waiting for solutions to appear
in the choice
listening to instinct's silent voice
show the way
in a dream-like state
to a new day
which dawns as one learns
awareness of one's self
through language's turns
at the wheel
as consciousness learns
the 'I' exists
beside the 'me' in which
words are formed
and with language's consciousness turned
makaks to man
consciously calculating
throughout his time-span.
When in times of trouble, Mother Mary comes to me, speaking words of wisdom,
let it be , let it be
let it , let it be; let it be Oh let it be
speaking words of wisdom
let it be
For, I get by with a little help from my friends, oh I get high with a little help from my friends...
I just need someone to love
can it be any body
i just need someone to love
love, love me do
I know I need you
...picture yourself a boat by a river, a girl with a smile in her eyes
coming quite closely
the girl in the tangerine skies...
Oh blad deeOh bladah, life goes on , now, lalalalalife goes on,
Desmond has a barrow in the market place
Lucy is a singer in the band
Desmond says to Lucy how I like your face.Lucy says let me hold your hand
Oh a drink a drink a drink to lilly the pink the pink the pink the Saviour of the Human Race
for she invented mmedicinal compound
so efficacous, in every way..
The answer my friend, is blowin in the wind, the answer is blowin in the wind
How many times must a man die,
must a cannon ball come rollin' at his feet
The answer my friend is blowin' in the wind
the answer aint so hard to meet!
Those were the days my friend, I thought they'd never end..

Worse.
I didn't even think! Not bother, not stop, not one jot!Not I!
And yet! Those were the days my friend, Ithought they'd never ends.SilenceBut, well, y& know
what? They did! Right there.Bang. Cos we'd 'ad our global warning 'n' all that gory stuff 'bout 't' end
o' world before, but then it came, out 'a blue, like, bang! Bob's y'er uncle, like,Talk about swine
fever!A killer it were 'n' no mistake! Bang. Millions. Trillions. Unbelievebale.Like Black Death,t'
plague, all rolled into one!
Blumin' eck. Talk about catastrophe. This were one 'n' no mistake. A killer! Flippin 'eck!
There it were. Gone!
Well what do yer do? Pick thasen up 'n' start afresh, that's what i says, so I di, right there, then, on't
spot. No messin' about. Off I went. Bang.Done!
Gone.
'n' that were't' end o' it.
Gio'er tha daft wasak. That were just start, that were. Take your marks, get set, go...'n' they're off
hurtlin' round 'corner, flat out, hell for leather 'n' all. Aye. It's true as i'm standin' 'ere, swear to God.

The hunch-back of St. Laurent

In touch with his resources the hunch-back drained the last lees of life from the dregs drained to the
last drop. Stood up. Stretched. Sniffed the air. Stole a glance at the mounting moon beneath the
spire. Heeded the stroke of twelve sonorous strikes on the bells of the Chapel and sank. Back into
the depths of slumbering sleep he drifted. Dwindling and dawdling he dwelt in the land of nod.
Dreams formed. Forged and forgotten images flashed fitting into the jig-saw puzzle which decoded
the contours of the lost landscape of words. Silence. Not a sound. Yet still the pictures flashed forth,
rising up on the crests of the surging waves. Rolling and turning. Crashing on the rocks of
consciousness. Streams of images slipped annd slid in the silence of stars which whispered and
winked overhead in the darkness. Quasi-modo wondered. Heeded the silence his heart hinted.
Slumbered. Dreams imagined and half-forgotten forged. Faded with the meaning. The sky greyed.
Shapes began to form themselves upon the horizon. Being arose. Awakened. Birds flocked, calling
the morning into existence. The waves washed and crashed in crescendoes, rising and falling
through the silent seascape of sound. Quasi-modo turned. Slumbered. The cry of gulls broke the
symphony of the sighted seascape. New pitches. New instruments added their voices to the
tremolling turmoil creating new shapes whose density and mass differed as fog-like they merged in
the mists which rolled over the shoreline. How the shoreline rose and fell. Crashing with the waves.
Rising, receding. Rolling crests rounded and dispersed in the
white foam of waves.
Visualisation- to Tom Watson -5 times Open Champion -& almost a 6th- which would have entered
his name in the record books for many a year! Pipped at the post!
Such is the ball game of golf. What better test of the mettle of a man?

Visualisation
is the key
to getting where
you want to be

Experience
the thrill
of learning to be
where you will

See how changes

swing the game
practice
your game

Plan
the moves ahead
visualise
keep fit
Stay the course
don't let slip
the chance
that be

a way to make
history
on the edge
stay the course

feel the thrust

keep cool
that's a must
stay smiling

wait,
watch the silence
fill the space
to weight

the burden lifts

the songbird sings
the scattered seeds
of time fling

futures yet to grow

in the silence
of the omnipresent
now!

Steel yourself
in time forged
watch the instant
endured
Zen and the art of bi-cycle maintenance. An ivestigation in to the bi-cameral mind.

Although three is a perfect number(in terms of solidity-and here I think of the pyramids) things
have a habot in happening in pairs.
Good bad, up, down and you get my drift.
There, in a nutshell, we have it. I or my?
Now that's a question!
Having briefly observed primates at the Durrell conversation centre(sic) Jersey, it seems blatantly
obvious that primates(perhaps all species) seek/ do communicate .
There is a pecking order. There are amongs teh Makaks & other primates similarities to humans
which frighten. We are all one family. 99.9 percent the same genetic make up...
Scary huh!
Right on!
We (humans) have to have intellectually & physically enriching experiences in order to avoid
bpredom & stresss. Talk about 'Huit Clos( No thank you. Closed? Forget it! Open?
Yes please!
The sky is the infinite limit!
We must try harder!
Try, try & try agaain!
Focus on the horizon as an objective. It helps!
Stick to beautiful places which provide spiritual vitality, energy & ...beauty (in the aye of the
beholden!
Cycling home tonight I was at the limits of my pitiful endurance.
Observing the beauty of the landscape-the flowers, the patients of peasants-there at oneness with
nature,
allowed me to gain insights!
Hurray. Give , faye, give!
1.Beauty (as however perceived) provides spiritual uplifting and energy.
2.Beauty gives juice! For nowt!
3.Beauty must be sought. It is there. We spend our lives in meaningless & endless trivia-
4.3 get to grips.
5.4. Discover, uncover your 'true North- &
6.Go for it. Hell for leather. Cos if you don't -why them cotton pickin -deputy dawg & aim jus
gonna have to take control of alll this...
7.Insurance? Police, No big deal. Justask!
8.Free pass;
9.slengie!!!I am the barge which another observed
carrying timber and nails down the rriver
of consciouness to some foreign town
where the scaffolding grows with the trade
on the back of whose business my name was made
silent, unseen for i
am the witness who wonders why
the wayer at the surface and that beneath
minle and flow in the deep
subteranean mind
where consciousness fuses arounnd
awareness cast in the symbols designed to last
and serve the metaphorical mind of the word
spoken in vein, for the silent symbol can never be named
for fear that peace loving supporters will slice off an ear
whilst the verb repairs the deed;
i carry my burden to those in need
for salvation comes at a price
as high as the cost of a human life
given for naught,
for on thefield of battle the war is fought
as the gallows groww taller and victory sought
in the clash, for the bicameral halves have met
their match
in the metaphor heard
in the beginning with the silent verb
sewing love in the weft of the world
where behaviour is aped
under duress of the enduring stress
which plays
in the minds of primates throughout their days
seeking relief
in escape
in the timber framed gallows of late
fashioned by love, and hate
as money moves the silrnt needle
grooves
the world spun metaphor for more
news
to spread
amongst the living, dead
halves of the bicameral mind
set
in stone to rule
the rambling meanderings of a hunch
backed
fool
whose tool
spilt
the seeds of love up to the hilt
to flower
in a timeless shower
to rain
upon the throne of love's thrice written name
in story told
in deed
vanity and greed
do drive the nails deep
into the flesh
until the angels weep