Star Dancer

I dance amongst the stars
My atoms spread vast
Upon the energies flow
Space into Space
Wild with the rhythm of the planets
I dance amongst the stars

Within the ever flowing dark of light
No vacuum cold touches
Joy that is my souls beat
Space into space
I dance amongst the stars

As above so below
Perception is all energies flow
And time a spiralling compression
Existing in all times and space
I move between
I dance amongst the stars

But eternity’s voice whispers
Raging above the music of the spheres
Its siren song

Vast silence mirror of my own
Finally I know thy face
Heart of my soul
I hear

24th May 2001 (C)

I wrote this poem for yet another friend of mine called David. Strangely there have been quite a few that have shaped my life in one way or another. The many David friend's have proved a meaningful contact and development point for me and without them I might not have questioned and strived to find some measure of enlightenment. They have also forced me to face my own value system and more than that my own shadow.

Flood Tide

I was sitting by the river bank at Twickenham, just down stream from Richmond, which was visible from where I was seated on some concrete steps of a mooring place. It had rained heavily and somehow it reflected all the mixed emotions I felt concerning my friend David. He had sent me a postcard a month or so before his suicide and he seemed to be happy, but then he was good at covering up pain with humour. He had accompanied his mother on a trek across the Yorskshire Dales and he referred to himself as Sherpa Tensing, as she was using him to carry the backpacks.

I have always wanted to put a tribute together for him as he was a wonderful raconteur and a very caring friend. He would have made a brilliant mark on the world if he had lived. It is so hard to be caught between two worlds.



Floodtide
The River swollen like a toothache.
Waterfowl fight the currents.
Mud brown water
Runs like treacle.
Eddies, eddies, eddies.

Floodtide.
I cast my soul into these waters,
Watch it fight against the current.
Watching from the bank,
I’m drowning.
Floodtide.

If it rains anymore,
How will I take the shore?
Floodtide

(c) 1994 December

You can Change the He to She; One Size Fits All

You have no substance
Only shadow, merging into shadow.
A bright technicoloured screen.
Dream state images,
Of a mind,
Wrapped in the grey, ice-calmed fog of unreality.

But he’s a kind man,
(They say),
Sensitive, kind to others.
All part of the illusion. Build yourself a personality.
Easy stage assembly kit,
As used...worldwide....
By the professional classes.
Paint this section with a touch of sympathy,
And here a small trace of humanity.
(Words shielding emptiness).
You too can have the ‘Good Image’,
Build yourself a personality.

You have no substance,
Behind the bright colours, I see,
Only shadow,
Merging,
Into shadow.
Dream state Images,
Of a mind,
Wrapped in the grey, ice-calmed fog of unreality.


© 1973

Kew Watercolour

The queue at Kew is back gate
On the river,
A mud flat armada fresh dined on
Autumn squalls
Seek sanctuary and my bread roll,
Turning the air sharp
With their soap opera cries.
And around the bend
There comes in view
A lonely water boatman
Cambridge with cold,
Skulling lockward to Richmond.
Mallards transvestite with their
Last fat chicks of summer
Rush to and fro like excited
Coach trippers.
And overhead I see
The Canadian aerobatics team wheel
The sky
Winter one last nesting flight away
Whilst mud flatted,
Rust chipped,
And clinker built
A boat lazily leans against the mooring pillars
And banks burst to silver
In the misty mid-day air.

(c) 1994