Receding white
yields to moist
patch of brown
and burnt brown
leaves of grass
White branch ,
sepia, taupe, sienna
dried and feathered
by the cold
Up reaching to the sky,
A dull stirring In the air
under a pale grey blue
of enduring daylight .
The sun gauzed
in a grey white haze
stubbornly relents
to its’ descent .

The Law

The Law

The shape of things
to come ,
On the boulevards ,
the shape of spring .
Sitting on rotund
Lilac divans
laws are made
and In all
these  new beginnings
the old ones fade .
plexi steel
stiletto heel
Silver leather
Herald the new
and latest weather
A crop of  percussive songs ,
electronic tweet
sweet canaries
of the past repeat
will it last
The  axe is falling
Reapers calling .
The ding dong
of the door sounds
Then the
calls are made
to the elegance
of ladies
and to all the
ineptitudes of men .
Give me the law
Baby ..I need it.
Need it in the now .
Need it over again .

My Soul is Boxed In .

My Soul is Boxed In .

My soul
Is boxed in
and anguished
by my body,
for want of you.
The stars
shine brightly
spread all across
the clearest evening sky
In the full array
of your habitation.
The moon and I,
we survey the places
where you are.
The stars sit like
so many
filled glasses
spread across a table,
by a seasoned
thirsting drunk.

My soul yearns
to be released
to fly far up above
the trees
To It’s high up places,
as yours did
In release towards the dusk,
and evening stars.
And sometimes I see you;

You return
Only in the spring
to tree tops

For the release of budding leaves.

My soul
is boxed in by
my body
and yearns
to leave, today,
for the places
where you are;
to abide there
with you in your habitation
of the star,
so that I can drink
once more of
loving essence
and once more be at ease,
no longer far,
but close to you again .
And then,
let the clouds of night
cover over
all the mapped out
points of light,
as we hide from sight
in our sheltered
habitation of the star.

From Next Steps to Paradise by PWChaltas