Now and Forever

Is it the moments,
when my hands are in yours,
when your eyes rest on mine,
kissing mine, with a look?

Or the times
when love's store in us
is so full, only silence
can find expression?

Those times,
when laughter ripples our faces,
and our spirits soar together
far above our bare surroundings - as one.

Those times,
when you pointed me
to your sister the moon,
hanging in the sky,

Blessing our lips as they meet?

Those times, that you love,
those times, that I love,

Those times;

Now and forever - You and I.

Shadows Across my Doorway

I have dreamt of love
that soars aloft on snowy peaks
transcending the earth with open ears
to hear the angels sing:

What wondrous melody soaks the night
of what glorious tales they tell,

And though my dream is yet asleep,
I am no less content. . . .


I have dreamt of love
amidst a garden of unblemished petals;
each the heartbeat of a shimmering star,
receiving life from eternal rivers:

Retiring violets, sing its modesty,
pure-white lilies hold its innocence,

And though my dream is not yet awake,
I am no less content. . . .


I have dreamt of love
borne in the arms of the sailing breeze,
rippling the surface of my heart's quiet stream,
steering it gently to Heaven's golden sea:

Breeze and stream; the love and beloved
wading steadily to a blessed rest,

And though my dream is yet a dream,
I am no less content. . .

Out in the Cold

Antartica, resting place of sailing ice,
why is your harbour within my heart?
and your ships, like shifting dew,
with cold tongues, lick the morning air;

The howling blizzard bears down on me,
flapping my garment in its wailing turn -

Chilling, biting, blinding my sight,
melting my happiness with cold warmth.


Penguins gaze at me in pity,
their white bellies like polished ice,
around and about, I peer through their numbers,
hoping to catch the sun's yellow eye -

I pray the sun would leave her nest
and shed on me tears of fire,

To dissolve the water-rocks that embalm my heart
and grant me the peace of a heavenly choir.


When will my lips cease to quiver
from the embrace of this sunless room
and my frozen hand beat my turgid heart
to break the icicles that fill its roof -

Another anchor is let down; one more ship is docking,
adding a sober merchandise to my overflowing stack

Antartica, resting place of sailing ice,
why is your harbour within my heart.

A Tapestry of Roses

I will sit by a gentle flowing stream
that holds the moon in silver radiance
and there, whisper solemnly this creed:
"I love you now as I loved you once":

And remember, my untutored lips
to say this, both in good or ill.

What song is this, within our hearts ringing?
what tune is this that graces our ears?
songs of love, with a melody pealing,
unknown to the sweetest of all birds:

Songs that tell of nothing else
except the passion that we share.

Let us leave the earth and take our place
in the assembly of the stars,
and our souls, dare to embrace
this offspring of our beating hearts:

Entwined tenderly with many-a-thousand posies,
bound, heart-to-heart by a tapestry of roses.

Beyond The Starry Night

My love is not of this place,
she is coming to me from outer space;
we would shame Mercury's fire with our love,
and gallop across Venus from dawn to dusk.

The Earth would not hold us firmly to it,
the plains of Mars must feel our feet
till Orion and Andromeda gaze in starry wonder,
and marvel at such a love as ours.

We would soar, aloft, borne on the Sun's light
and relish all of Jupiter's pride,
on the rings of Saturn, we would mount our nest
and drift awhile, to a blissful rest.

Uranus shall rejoice at our approach
and beg of us to make him our home
but love has no abode save in the hearts of men,
no cosmic sphere can be its den.

For aeons on end, our love shall bloom,
and swell the fortunes of a thousand moons
we would be the envy of stars and comets,
Neptune shall bow and call us blessed.

I will drown myself in this celestial praise
and kiss her feet at Pluto's gate. . .
O, my love is not of this place,
she is coming to me from outer space!

Footprints

Will it hold my spirit
as it climbs?
My soul,
as it rides this curl of smoke
that creeps up the thatch?

Pure, rain-washed,
prodding the murk,
probing Erebus,
sowing light.

Vaulted by this rhapsody,
a web of notes, strong,
within me,
against the Wind.

Will it
hold my spirit?
Will it
my soul?

As Visions lay, cremated,
wombed,
by impotent ash;
longings withering in
the stale breath of years
as I lay, snared
by dreams unlived.

Will these offspring crumble too,
a specter
of bygone years?
Will the footprints grow sun-baked
with no sprout of green?

Therein,
is the dream that strains,
the stealth,
that stumbles in - unbidden,

to pull the silent strings,

to birth the notes, to
rapture me.

At Twilight . . .

At twilight . . .

I slip through the wormhole –
across the rainbow –
this half-visible coloured torus.

I, walk the two-manifold-disc;
shape-shifter, shifting from
substance to non-matter, beyond

the wormhole, beyond the horizon’s
rim-thin reels of crimson,

as the sun with a jealous eye
kills the ageing night.

I,
shape-shifter, shifting this
twisted tale of twilight –
this virgin vortex, beyond

blue rocks that kiss in doom, beyond
winged-ram-fleece, beyond
climes, where music thrills from strings stretched
from the sun –

The music of the Shining City,
weaned on the winding wish of the whirlwind . . .