The first rejection hurt the worst

    – the single sharpened stone

    flung from the hand that hailed me

    when I was yet alone.


O Incarnatio

    thy spine o’ercometh

    thy belly grows weak

    as thy spirit plummeth

    to tears that still speak

    in lamenting woe

    thou far-bidden freak

    O Incarntio


The touch that once brought healing warmth

    – has now turned rough and cool

    as infant skin made scarred is spent

    on famines of the Fool.


O Incarnatio

    thy yoke has been broken

    thy back shattered out

    as thy breath is spoken

    in one final spout

    in the face of the foe

    as your life dribbles out

    O Incarnatio


The kiss I bought from lying lips

    – beneath a traitor moon

    I paid in blood and sweat and tears

    my life for a boon.


O Incarnatio

    thy light is now fading

    thy cry shakes our lands

    as thy soul shudders shading

    our waters and sands

    from the glorious glow

    of your heavenly bands

    O Incarnatio


Answers to the Unasked


Bound down in blue tides

with newfound ground

to stand upon

and new fond friends

abiding with

and hiding without

reference to why

or when or whose

shame anyway

but calm and clear

sentinel of balm

who brings a distant choice

with words unearned

unearthed and otherwise

forgone in pretexts

left forgotten

for days in gardens



Blissful sugardances twist

on golden bloom’s boughs

down low beneath

the apple chasm’s leafless

fostered forest stifling

pertinent plies of light

amongst the shady arms

that cover wild flora

in barked love

and stalwart trunks

tall and forbearing

tides of night and typhons strong


Come not to this dwindling road

winding round aspen and cold winter

tights in missed glances that love

in dancing silhouettes cast

upon pale walls beyond

dim firelight quiet


Christened ‘Forthwith’ in silent assent

while one hand pushes

and the other pulls back

the hand that marches

to its own swaying tick

cast all in stock

broken only by these

sticks and talks


Rivulets run through seedbed roots

cutting steady course with original intent

to pull the blooms down

wash away dead leaves

bury slumbering stalks

in the mire of pushed-over dirt

and frustrated fruits


Strong pulls up the stalwart stem

beneath the mud-encrusted home

that holds and nurtures

sacred roots

birthing shoots

that strive for light amidst the gloom

of cold comfortable canopies

and engulfing embrace









100 Days


The curling waves

gently rock

the broken boat

some sweet lullaby

perused by you

sung soft and clinging

to my sundered shirt sleeve

bloodstained and browbeaten

over splinter-red hands.

Oh, but he put up a fight

and laughed

and danced a manic jig

over grandiose and epic tales

that lead down many winding paths

but always to the same nowhere

and here

and now

in the salt sea stung tough

perhaps I can learn

to let him cry

and sob

and wail

turning away my battered hands

from comforts touch

to trade the boy

to embrace the sea

all her mystery

as I sit simply

and watch the boat sail away

for a hundred more days.


Would I if I could?


were the sock of cold

where once held hoof

concealing novelty aloof

from sight like gold

hid in the earth

awaiting miner’s breaking birth

or pensive thought

in marination

stewed and stowed in recreation

flowing hot

and spewing steam

as music kept within a dream

of whisper’s barking

second hand

and reaching clean across our land

with sharp reworking

from a host

of sickened will who have the most

to gain from foresight

left behind

where whirlpools will unwind

in times grown tight

with view unpleasant

trapped at last within the present


the train in the microcosm – III


outbound bound and bounding out

round tangential referentials

reflecting fractured facades

filtered and unfiltered

for wandering eyes

slightly seizing

opened wide

with compromise

as a thin disguise

for curious travels

in travailing licenses

lying in wait these snares to scare

the lovely and innocent

down to departure

and wrested measure

beyond depravation

just past over indulgence

incorporating cockroaches

as the placekeepers of the divine