Don’t be small
Lift thine eyes
To the heavens
Give the world its due
Dig a space in
Which you can dwell.
Lifting the hand
To shield the sun
From the heart
Sifting the years 
Through the fingers
Like dirt or dust
Drifting as the clock
Slides towards the edge
Going to the temple
Of the mind 
Seated upon a ledge
That hangs over 
A space between
Your mind and mine.

I’m like some old steam engine shunted into a railway siding,
Or an old favourite book left lying on the shelf dust gathering.
I’m in solid sorrow for being, once again, the forgotten one,
Going from being the expected one, to being the nothing someone.


Now I am a relic sitting in the basement of a museum,
Like a once popular music album, that had everyone dancing
But is now buried on the bottom of a pile of old vinyls,
No longer played, no longer touched, ignored and out of style.


I’m like a shrivelled orange sat in a glass bowl in a cupboard,
It shapes my heart into a battered over used and old dartboard.
I no longer walk, like I used to, along the countryside paths,
For I have lost the meaning of this dream along with my innocence.

Think in shapes and tapwater dreams,
Sparkling yonder a triangle of jealousy;
Make typewriter paints and puddles out of streams
Horizontal roads and octagonal agonies
Leave square staring eyes.
Watch yourself, because you’re thinking in shapes.

Shapes appear and you lose them again….

	Think of circles with arcs and diameters
	When you see a sun drift into a cloud
	Radius of sunbeam and sunlight radiates
	Rectangular strength, the lies are to be boxed in.

Shapes disappear, you are not lost forever
But you have to think them again before they reappear … 

	Think cones within cones and conical spires
	Brickwork interlarded with mercury mortar
	Not for strengthening – more for show
	Lean the vertical at right angles
	But never let yourself be as slow.

Shapes evaporate, steady and recreate
Change form and celebrate
For in them there is the thought procession.


26/6/95

I have blunted my spade, as there are too many graves,
I have shovelled mounds of dirt and mud, not braved
the thought that none of these graves are necessary.
Stepping over the bodies lined in their hundreds
No one spotted the flaw in my arguments or cared,
I have ravaged my heart with thoughts such as these
Why do I do it can someone tell me now please?

In the process of mending fences and painting them
I was clobbered by a rusty old shovel belonging
To the one who wanted more than mere revenge,
Blood streamed down my face but that was not enough,
because the one that held the tool in their hand
was clear in their intention to bury me always alive,
did I deserve this once then and now how many times?

I decided to refill all the graves with good intent
But that was not good enough either the despised one
Was on my back tearing at me and taking off flesh,
Not satisfied to see me spend time digging and refilling
No there had to be a higher price to pay, a further reach
a deeper payment was needed that would bankrupt my heart.
No, I will fill every open grave, because I had done my part.

I pray every night and send healing prayers
To those parts of the world in the mire
I send peace and love to the refugees 
I pray their journey make take them home
I send healing to people being bombed 
And ask for their deliverance,

I pray every night for you to help sleep
I send a healing prayer to you to help relax
I ask the Lord to protect you look after you,
I ask the Lord to send his Love to you
To give you joy and uplifting happiness
And ask that he keeps away any demons.

I pray every night for the all our tomorrows
I send healing to all those less fortunate
Who dread every day that comes their way
I send understanding and respect to enemies
I ask that they take time to abandon hatred 
And ask they be shown the true path to Light.

I pray we each find a new home in Bude
I send thoughts about how it will make us happy 
To be more settled in each other’s company
Enjoying each moment of companionship
To laugh to walk every day be restful
And ask that you find inspiration in your 

Catching the wind, like slowing a film
Where smiles merge with sad faces
Falling cliffs and raging rivers
Weaving in and out gigantic snowdrifts.

You’re not really aware of another day
Because each hour is sewn into your coat
Foxes die and fish look for defeat
Hares race and dogs silence every bleat.

There’s no looking back nor forward 
For in every turn of the night and day
More hours are kept, protected, hidden
Why were you waiting?

Was their meant to have been a special day
Was there the merest chance that delay
Would lengthen into decades strewn with spikes
Roads somehow lined with likes and dislikes.

Not taking any particular road – just any road
Speeding through avenues of aching
Stretching a moment as though of elastic
Underlining every mundane or dramatic.

Pause, like Shakespearean actors
Learning and re-learning
Shows shades of longing
For what no one knows.

No looking means not striding ahead
it means letting go of the wind
counting every second in the mind
casting aside each dull careless second.

Like a misused fishing net
Spelling it out really isn’t it?
I’m not really catching the wind
Not am I ever likely to.
 

Cosseted in half slumber in soft armchairs
You do nothing like shouting or making cheers
You are zombiefied into passive observation
You are beyond resting or normal relaxation.

As the vibrating images flicker into your brain
Are you living inside the inevitable open drain?
Where energies are sapped, they turn to stone,
Because the negative pull wins the day again.

As you observe the TV Wonderland sitting alone
You inject more adversity, pain into your vein
You have wars, earthquakes and sexual violence
Mingled with toilet paper, chocolates, soap powder.

As your eyes bulge in complete solid acceptance
A part of you dies, a branch is snapped off each time
As you switch on the Box of millions dots and dashes
For TV land is relentless substandard non-thinking.

As hypnosis inevitably takes over the whole world
You are left with little room to explore and discover
Who you really are - where you are – why you are
For TV mania cuts off your time and you are left drained.

Newspaper draped over the lap auto button TV control
You are stilled, the only thing left is to sit, stare and grow old
Sport juxtaposed with environmental propaganda motions
Politicians sitting next to custard creams and face lotion.

The seriousness of mind pollution is never told or discussed
Brain wash ‘n’ dry, washed whiter and never recognised
Propaganda tea bags and sugar lumps left hanging in a trap
Where light energy turns dark, evaporates, never comes back.

He danced his last by himself
When the music became heavy
The scented display shelf
Fell into the golden levee
As his mind became melted,

He pranced his heart out
Asked for more than a drink
“I’m pretty, but sordid, I think”
All the words of his curdled
His head swam in a dream
His life became a bad theme
Of make believe, no reality.

“Please let me see the sun again”
But the words blew away
His hat was the only
Protection between his head
And the floor of the ravine
He jumped clear of the gorse bush
All he heard was a harsh air rush.