Friday, 25 October 2013

João Torto

Tried to touch the sky
Hurtled down into the earth
Found Heaven instead


Wednesday, 16 October 2013

The Ghost

This morning you woke and rose,
The Ghost stayed down in bed
Waited and stared til' you made home
Watched the weather, All the way.

The big bold world opened its arms
And embraced all you affected
Thus The ghost sank through the bed
He made it all cold, with Sleep.

So when you returned with visions,
The ghost reflected in the window
And saw darkness All Around;
Heard it in your words; aspiration,
And slid down through the ground.    

Saturday, 12 October 2013


You were right to steer well clear:
The status quo pervades this place;
The only way is down.

To Rakhmetov’s lair!
Where ideas are King,
Under a stalactite sky.

The bashing of hammers
becomes the flicking of knives
A scratch on the rock, surfaces on the skin,
As a razors line.

You were right to down your tools:
The status quo pervades this place
Where gold bleeds with an iron face.

A mountain pointing the wrong way,
Buried in the earth, and dormant in darkness;
A child in a well;
Where amidst the clouds a great thinker once sat,
Waiting for the night to take his place.

You climbed outside, freed your mind,
With ideas of heaven;
And a bright blue sky.

You were Right!

For he was glad of your leaving;
No longer teased with life,
Finally left at peace, to bleed himself dry.