Here I stand
Where all great things collide
Upon the daylight’s bittersweet waning
The moon is now full for the second time this month
It is blue and massive and floats low in the horizon
This is the last full moon of summer
whose days now scatter to the shifting winds
like wildflower seeds who lie dormant
Waiting ever patiently
for their inevitable rebirth

The bins of Old London are fattened and gorged
Gulping down gadgets and cracked plastic toys,
Gagging on curry, tofu and toast,
Somebody’s rubbish and somebody’s joy,
Grandpa’s teeth and mothers’ pink socks,
All bunged in the bins of old London.

But foxes feed here, and squirrels swing by,
So do the homeless and thrifty.
What is worthless to you
Is worth more than jewels
To the hungry and poor of Old London.

The magics of the will imprinting upon your personal aura,
With the pineal gland transferring its shapes into your brain,
And dynamic minds essence corrupting not becoming purer,
Leading an individual's enlightenment to then become insane.

As I focus my thoughts into their densities they condense,
And my patterns of consciousness become a part of yours,
The weight of your actions consequences now so immense,
I Influence your freedom and nature through sacred laws.

The magics of the will imprinting upon your personal aura,
With the pineal gland transferring its shapes into your brain,
And dynamic minds essence corrupting not becoming purer,
Leading an individual's enlightenment to then become insane.

As I focus my thoughts into their densities they condense,
And my patterns of consciousness become a part of yours,
The weight of your actions consequences now so immense,
I Influence your freedom and nature through sacred laws.

once
each word was new
had not existed
had never been spoken

so
speak the word
‘seaweed’
for the very first time

sea-weed

weed of the sea

sea - weed

smell the word, flavour it
salt-fresh

or melting rot on sand
an unbearable decay

but savour the names

green-hair
oarweed
hen-pen
rosy-pink-plates
dew-drops
oyster-thief
kelp
irish moss

unravel threads of mermaid-string
drifting in your head

The wood is here
For our mid winters heat
Piled off to the side
Of the woodshed,
Fresh from the truck
The scent is tantalizing
With the musky scent of oak
and the sweet smell of maple
Coming from the heat of the sun
As the wood continues to dry
As I move the wood to
Its stack in the shed
I also detect the fruitiness
Of some apple
Buried in there
As I pick up each piece
I reflect, that twice
It will heat me
Once as I carry it
And once when to the stove it goes.

There is beauty in every life
There's joy in every strife
There's light in the darkness
Pain can be turned into bliss

When you're in the pouring rain
When the noise drives you insane
When you can't hear over the tears
When life preys upon your fears

There will be days you want to quit
When you can't handle another hit
When you're at the end of your rope
Just remember, there is Always Hope

In the sacred circle of the temple we align our highest nature,
The truth of our ambitions and suffering now laid bare,
As the burning fireball of the sun by the night is slowly taken,
The legends of old and legacy of the new we all share.

Connecting to the energies of the pineal crown sephiroth,
We align the power centres of a renewed spiritualised soul,
And with aspirations and new hope from the awakened gods,
We connect the divine essence to our macrocosmic control.

When our truest hopes are utterly extinguished,
And the love of our life disappears into the night,
The resolute will to survive so weak diminished,
How can we strive on and rise to life's next fight?

In a time of mourning in our souls pure desolation,
Feeling the vibration of the metals in our souls,
Trying not to succumb to a feeling of desperation,
Whilst keeping within sight our true objective goals.

now i'm sitting on the edge of this thing.
this big black bowl that sinks in.
and all i can do is look at it.
and how it holds all these pills that are too big to swallow.
so i bite my lips and dangle my feet.
but once i sit myself up i'm looking at you and your mouth. furrowed brow.
it keeps forming words but saying nothing out loud.
keeps pausing and starting and sputtering.
because i asked the things i shouldn't have again.
i sit on my hands. listen to you blubber.