Finally
The gnashing
of teeth
Approaches an end.
The birds have ears.
Sky welcomed
Wings
Take flight,
And the air is open
To new directions.
The handkerchief
Has dropped.
Freight trains are
Derailed.
The bull is gone.
There is a
Smouldering
Smoke as if
the fire is beginning
Once again but

It is ending.

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Pity the atheist.
The birds have ears.
They eat out of
Garbage cans.

Girl with the
Soft Brown Eyes

Thin Girl
with soft brown
eyes
your
smile
and eyes
are telling me
a tender story,
in amongst
the pewter
plates that
you so
earnestly sell.
Ebony hair
elegantly pulled
back and pinned
just so,
you remind me
of another girl
barefoot,
tending flock
in parched brush
of eastern hills
and
of all those
girls so many
centuries ago
with eyes
and smile
as pure
as yours.

In the House of 3 Angels

In the house
of 3 Angels,
The travellers arrive.
In sunset
and in daylight
the layers
of their hearts
are slowly set
aside
and suffering
is laid bare.
by laughter
and by story
by love of friend,
their journey will
continue
as word In the
Angel’s house
dissipates the fear.
The comfort
of the faithful friend
Is near .
In the house of
3 Angels
The bells toll in the distance
from cathedral spires
and as one angel gives
of self,
the others will receive.
In the house
of 3 Angels
time at sunset
will stand still
and the town
will spread its’ glory
on horizon
by the light
of heaven’s fire,
and friendship
once again
burns bright
in a deep and starry night
as Michael’s
Sword is
swung swiftly
flashing,
cleansing,
easing,
In the warmth
of this evening’s light.

At El Tenampa

Hemingway
Has a beer
on his own
in the corner.
White pants
white beard
white brows
Solemn and pensive
In a bucket hat
And an open
Thick plaid shirt ,
He stares up
at the beer cans
At the back of the bar
At the El  Tenampa .
He says a gruff
But somehow polite
“goodbye”
As he walks out
the cantina door.

San Miguel

Crickets sing
In courtyards
To trickling water.
In the distance
bells of Cathedrals ring.

I think of a

Dark skinned boy

With olive eyes
Crouching
In an embryonic chair,
A one Legged
Old woman walking
With a cane
among the brightly
Coloured plates,
An old man
Singing playing
harmonica
With white pupils
And a cup.

Murmured
Songs from
Disconsolate
lips a haunting
blessing
From the wandering
priest.
On polished stone,
Walking your
bones are
Creaking in the
daylight
darkness
like a boat
as canonballs
are shot.

Shekinah Even Song

In the meadows
With the setting sun
The gloaming hour
Arrives
trees afire,
The time to journey
Has come
Again.

The road is long
The steps are known
Feet are weary
But my heart is strong
And I return
With thoughts
of you
and bearing
notes of even song.

The darkness
love
Is all around
And silence covers
sleeping town
Only the ancient
Shines its silken
Milky light
On the hillsides
Of our home.

Come sing
With me
agaIn tonight,
together
At the table,
By the stirring
candle light
our lips
on red, red
wine of song
And the bread of life
That we partake
each in the other.
And in a single
Solitary line
We will all sing the holy words
That raise the music
Of our souls
And join our voices
In the harmony
divine.

Sing my love
Oh sing
my love
There is nothing
that we
can do
but sing
This love of ours
One heart
One mind
will fall on
every living thing

Raise the light
And sing it true
The lyric speaks
Of you,
and we two together
as sun rises
slowly In our eyes,
And pale moon
Drifts across
lightening sky and
fading stars
We, with word
will move again,
souls united
From falling dusk.

In coming dawn
Come sing
With me
together
In the early
morning hour
With sun above.
Sing my Love
and I will sing
In harmony
with you
We together,
Whether
light or dark,
night or day
Will never truly
be apart
for long.
A year, a day,
A single heart
They are all
A simple breath
Away
and but an
Even song
Apart.

He’s The One Sitting

He’s the one
Sitting
on the street corner Watching
People walk away.

He’s the one sitting
On the street corner
Silent
He’s got nothing
To say.

He’s the one sitting
On the street corner
Watching the world
go on its’ way.

He’s the one
Resigned almost
content
No one could try
to understand
or exactly say why

He’s the one sitting
On the street corner
Watching
the world
go by.

He’s the one sitting
on the Street corner
take a just moment
To say hello.

He’s The One
Take a moment
and let Him know,
That running
or not
We admit
we’re are all
Very much the same :
Running, sitting
Lugging,
Laughing, or silent,
in the crowd
all part
Of the still and
moving
human
game .

He’s The One so,
Just take some time
And let him know
you care,
And do what you
would want
someone
Else to do
For you .

On the road
Travelling east
broad grey
ribbon passing
expansive slopes of white
Punctured,
finely pierced,
Dotted,
brushed
with sepia.

White,
sepia,
Under the expanse
of watercolour grey
And beauty blue.

White expanse
And Willow
Yellow
Against a dusted
sepia,
fine brown vein,
evergreen
Of life.
The wind runs above
And through it.

Travelled heart
You have no concept
Of the white expanse
Of it all.

Celestial blue,
You arrive
Out of grey
In sunshine.

Cityscape below
blue
Haze
On striped
guache
of yellow .

Satin
red sunset
Ray
Streaming
On the sky
Twilight
Of darkening blue
And grey

Red neon
signs
Hang on
the city,
Towers capped by
red lights.
The City restless
At night
fully charged
And alive
In the streets.

We watch in evening
As dreams come
half asleep
In a moonless night
Without the stars.