September’s Benevolence

There is a breeze
Grass soaking wet-
An ocean gossamer of all things Autumn and old
All things ethereal and elusive,

Gleaming nectarous in some distant bliss
Is the moon and we hold hands
Attached by habit “Mother leave me be”
I say halfheartedly half-wanting half-hopeful,
Tonight will extend into forever,
I say, I say but having swallowed the blackberry briers
My mouth only bleeds

She’s silver flowing and still
Dressed in spiderwebs,
Shadows casting such presence transcendent,
Perpetually followed closely by an entourage,
And she speaks to me coagulating
“If you want to leave,
I will take all of your guilt”


…and we wade in oil, step on broken glass

There is no loss
No forward momentum
The streets are flooded with mosaics
Glass murals stained with flesh and blood
Of our mothers’ belonging and who knew
There were so many shades of red and
Who knew that a scene one thousand one words screaming
Could be sewn shut,

There is loss
There is movement without
But we are not worthy we believe
We are not worthy
It’s not worth it to suffer for the greater good and
We do not properly acknowledge the deaths that come
Knocking at our doors that whisper
Under our treads as we drive ignorant
Drive daydreaming,
No, it’d be a needless sacrifice
A contradiction for we the luminaries
To suffer for one another

There is no loss
Only a life abandoned;
The rotting smell of our mothers’ remains

Of My Own Making

A fish
But deflated;
A can
Of Busch Light

And I think,
How foolish of me

Sweet streams of blue
Sweet beauty beneath a placid reflection of my own face

Excitedly at first
I gazed into the muddled gauze
Flowing nearly to a stop

“What wonder,
What monuments what -” I say
“is that?”

No fish
No child of Earth
Yet shining tender in loose sediment
It is there and
There is no heart inside,
No wonderfully constructed calcium skeleton,

There it is
Beneath this reflection
Far more lively
Than my beloved river runners
And vastly more insidious

This blood is earth and water, this blood is earth and water

But it rains and instinctually
We retreat

Return to a hollow of our own making;
The furrowed marrow mass of a tree uprooted
It’s luck
It’s a manifestation of grief never acquitted

Hold down coarse forest fur
Frantically protruding forth
Out of fear
Out of an absence of warmth

Lightning flashes,
White paints bleak landscapes with negative light
Two dimensional
Binary projection

We are afraid
Of the mother’s gunshot
Of her fierceful fusillades
We are afraid
Not of being stalked
Not of being wrapped under
The deep taloned paw of a predator
But of seeing ourselves in the temporary
Epochal photographies as if a storm,
One of many
Will reveal that as we are the hunted
We are the hunter as well
We continue to take shelter
To live in a state of denial

Manuscript Help?

Ahoy all! So I’ve been working on a collection of poetry, titled ” Canyons, Such As These”. It’s based around nature and the human experience, encompasses something like 60-70 poems, maybe only 50, or less, I didn’t count and I’m not gunna bother. Would anyone be up fer giving it a read through? Pointing out any flaws, errors, offering yer own thoughts on it and that jazz? It’d be greatly appreciated and on the chance it gets picked up by a publisher I’d be happy to get you a copy free of charge.

Canyouns Such As These Cover Final

The Endlessness of a Moment

There’s that chill again, there
It is there
It is and there
It goes,
It goes,

These grass beds have turned yellow,
Tender sun setting beneath our flesh,

Warmth running
Away and the trees fracture
Chase after waning daylight

But it’s too late, but
It’s too late

We blush and their hearts
Beating abundant bleed
Blue and fall like
Snowflakes or

Upon A Slow Moving Afternoon

Colour upon sweet linen,
Silhouette hallucinations softly
Cycled through cotton bed sheets

“Ethereal breeze
Ethereal breeze with such transient motion
What stories unspoken
Must you murmur today?”
I asked aglow,

Inseparable from what rippling waves
Of August’s late sun-dream,
From a few feet nearby
In the nearly overwhelming tenderness,
There came response:

Cedar thickets collided then evanesced-
A moving image of me young and carefree
Drifting, drifting downstream
And I get so carried away
I paddle all the way to Dave’s house