Category Archives: Poesy-Prosey-Artsy

scribbles that look like poems but don’t scan or rhyme; or else they look like regular writing in whih case they are prose; or they are pictures which look like neither

Prayertouch

window lines frame white light floods your silence while talking to God you touched my love making a trinity of sorts [At Hui Aloha Church, Kaupo, Maui] Honolulu July 26 1987

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Pasha

Pasha, your funny little guy conjuring mane braids; curious and peeking. hide-and-seeking; and impishly leading the Other Man on a chase.

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Red Dwarf

***I – Red Dwarf, collapsing star, shrinking to a Black Hole ***Use star guide atlas/big telescope to find me ***Shed of gravity-sucking/energy-sapping satellites, I warm (not burn) those close to me ***Now and again, I pulse surprise quasars of still-vibrant … Continue reading

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Junctions

Unheeded until clicketyclack, switching, come junctions, where our lines combine and meet and apart

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Before

Before, when sitting on rocks in the middle of a bubbling stream we had thought of mountain brooks and mountain air and parting. So we loved. Around us were trees, a blanket of black twisting twigs through which the valley … Continue reading

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Making Out, First Time

This was his moment. He was going to make his first girl. For months his body had been jumping from dream to dream. He had lived this moment many times. He creeped between the week-old sheets. She grinned, showing the … Continue reading

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My Kind of Freedom

I remember sprawling in a canoe, while August sunshine washes over my bare, reddening body. my dangling feet are splashing the cold, blue lake. The canoe swings slackly around the makeshift anchor. A gusty breeze ripples the lake, It plays … Continue reading

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Loitering

I loiter beside the shredded tree muffled in October woolly mist beside a heap of cocoon leaves – demolition debris from a busy summer fanning wind, shading sun and waving at your comings and goings Ealing, UK; October/November 1986

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Cedar

We were bored. and the cedar was just another tree to us as we started to chop it. Sap dribbled and dripped from the gaping wound… like blood which spurted from my own gash a few days later. Revenge perhaps.

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Standing, Looking

Standing, looking out over Bangor. The wind cold redding my cheeks. Clouds and coalfire smoke my breath all billowing then streaming. Caught by ice blasts and disappearing with them.

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