Self Portrait

I once went to a psychic medium, who said I was like a tortoise:

Very slow, but certainly sure.

And so it has proven, for my life thus far has taken its time and its toll.


Yet, as my body grows weary, and the aches and pains set my pace,

I perceive in my spirit, a sprightlier gait then many

Who have already grown tired of life’s rewards- that are new to me.

The Gypsy Curse

Everything shimmers and floats,

In a Glastonbury caravan

Where I had my runes read for fun.

Heeding a dizzy sensation

As I entered the little room,

I sat on the little stool.

And was told my questions wanted answers,

But I couldn’t think- of whom?


She summoned up a terrible thing,

Lava red- adorned with bony spears on his head.

Puffing as it spoke, so rings of smoke

filled the room, and fire leapt in the glowing gloom.


“And what is it you’ve come to know?” He said.

“Do you desire power- over the winds that blow?

Over the moon that shines and the grasses that grow

Or do you just want to bend the minds of men?


Because we can make a deal, you know!”

Inner Voices

Be careful how you speak to yourself!

That will never work;

you’ll look like a fool.

Don’t say that to yourself, you fool-

It’s a self-fulfilling prophecy.

It is just the truth, you fool

Makes no difference whether I say it or not.

But if you say you’re a fool, you’ll always be a fool

Even if you’re only a fool for saying it.

I’d rather look like a fool who knew they were a fool

Than one under any delusions!

But you’re deluded if you think you’re a fool,

And you’ve just wasted twenty minutes arguing with yourself about it- you idiot!


Cheeky Burger!

Your brown tongue glistens, as though salivating to be licked.

The heat at your centre sends radiance out, melting all around you

until your tasty partners become an ooze that cannot get enough of you.

You do have a sharp bit. Acidic- making me wince in delight of your tangy depths.

And your soft outer coating is peppered with nuttiness that seems to be drawn to you-

Seeds offering a promise that all can be born again,

For right now I’m sad; a brief time of ecstasy in my mouth and it will soon all be over.


A child’s body bows beneath chainmail links, cut from convention.
By some innate doctrine her battle is decreed!
She clutches a brittle blade that, when drawn, hums a hollow tone
For the blacksmith’s ore he neglected, that would have served her.
She espies another youth with a breastplate beaming brightly
And with strange surety, he grasps a sword named sodalitas.
Just as defeat is unfurled in her eyes
Certain failure written into untimely lines
A benevolent sage with an aura of light
Penetrates the vacuous world she has known.
All that she had seen but still unbeknown-
Becomes every signal to every sense heightened,
And just as sure as the old world changes
She is armed and blessed with the knowledge of ages.

On love and Marriage

All my life I seemed to be falling towards you,

Helpless, as in a dream I become whole;

I knew we always were destined to be two

Joined, mind and heart, and soul.


When we reached the place we should become entwined,

They took out a manmade contraption

That plugged us in to each other,

Where we became fused.


We became two in one body

Like mythical beasts of yore.

It became impossible to tell where one ended and the other began-

A strange assortment of parts.


And still the congregation smiled from the gallery,

Heartening me with their encouragement, to resolve my jitters.

Alone now

Rock steadies my feet; we stood here together. An ache, relentless, crushes my core, from which legs are like nothing; inadequate trusses.

Yet still I stand.

Now, from below the Earth, our beacon rises. I know nothing of God, but still I stand. I only know the truths beyond knowledge.

I hear myself! … The moon never answers but its reflected light attests… the sun is there always, even when it is gone. Somehow I know strength endures, though not where… It’s so cold now, but I stand because I know, from knowing you, why I must lead the pack.

My inner mental room

Close your eyes and imagine a place:

Always spiral stairs from the entrance- an oak wooden door

Accessed from a hilltop, but the building is ethereal

So as not to ruin the landscape.

No one else can come here; they do not know the way.

Inside is solitude, but always a happy place;

It knows that I need to be alone

To find peace with myself again.

It is always light, with the light of early morning/early spring

Seeping in through the windows

And casting angular rays, in which I always stand, or sit.

It is warm, but fresh.

It is small but has everything I need:

A comfy chaise lounge, upon which I can be restful, if needed

But can also be bright and awake.

I can look at my life from the correct angle.

There is even a television; I can play videos back to myself,

Decipher what needs to change- make it melt away.

Then play it the right way.

Song of the deceased

The worst is oblivion.

Pain can be delightful;

It is sensuous to me now- sexy.

I yearn for sharpness, stinging,

aching, burning, crushing…

Heartache! Now there’s a thing to be desired-

Prized above all;

It is the best of pains

For it makes one feel most alive.

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