Time on my hands

Wringing palm around back of hand
in motion, perpetual, time sticks with
precision ticks, thumb pendulum faux
Swiss, marches up the length of Grandfather
and strikes behind the face to tock.
Hands of time play his clockwork mind,
ticking out thoughts within, making mischief
behind those marble eyes before the day tick tocks away.

Looking back Jack

Skipper, safe hand on tiller
my beacon on the western coast
I, your mooring boy, anchor down
in sheltered cove.

I can smell the smoke that made you wheeze
thru’ mist-mingled puffs in sea-salt breeze,
I’ve held you prisoner in your room,
I’ll scatter your wishes west real soon,
but not today, Jack, not today.

History lesson

Cellophane raindrops on plastic flowers
glint, harsh in the artificial sunlight,
hologram man reflects in red sand,
where seas, once dead, stood parted.

The latex wings of a dove stretched
out in love, perched on the rib
of an ark, where pairs cast in stone,
conga alone, below flood tide watermark.

Floating out beyond mars, past furthest stars
The planetarium beamed onto earth while the
history class stare, at their ancestral past, when a time
froze, as the ozone popped and collapsed.

Pillow of Dreams

Pillow of Dreams

I’m thrown my pillow,
‘Careful,’ I call and clasp,
those dreams you smell
belong to me,
don’t scrunch my feathers harshly



Lavender in terracotta, Queen of your
scented kingdom or rooted in exile,
never to entwine in terra firma,
or kiss dew  with herbaceous lover?