Finding my line is all well and good
but it does not help to flood
my lungs with the oxygen I so desperately need
to feed my blood
so I can soar away from the pain and succeed
rather than bleed and sink gasping
grasping for some hope and some sign
of a glorious descent
and the line drawn by another
I was going to write a poem
but where do you start to depart
from fact to Facebook fiction
from the fact that your kitchen
deviates from the public depiction
of a culinary nest of delight
rather it resembles scrambled
celebrity scroungers of the night
with the delicate aroma
of napalm in the morning
They ask. Of course they do.
I would join them
– if only I could join them –
but I have met Why?
and spent time in its presence.
I’m no clearer of course, are you?
Summer showers pass, the fast does not last,
Except for the poor straying souls that starve;
Still expected to remedy the past
Misdemeanours they did not themselves carve.
Reluctant to release its fiery nip,
Autumn holds onto its cold, brazen frost;
Occasional thaws calm a brittle tip,
Anxiety leaves as red trees count the cost.
Deep winter blankets cushion, howls and blows,
Comfort drawn from the store is forgiving.
The starry visitation comes and goes,
We remember that life is worth living.
Spring, oh at last, does bring ample bounty;
Time to feast – fruit released from its beauty.
the jericho roads 