Gratitude is Today

Rocks and stones are the Earth's bones.
Green grass lawns are

the clothing.

Vandals about
Peace is in doubt.

Each day

becomes

forboding.



They close their eyes
to imagine night skies.

For stars are draped in smog.


The speed to which, they leapt from cliffs
And disappeared into the bog.


Made of hate,
Fade of state

Expression is uncertain.

Blood on the pavement, the government's statement

hide behind the curtain


Evolution, revolution

Dissolution

born confusion.



Clarity is exception
Exception is gratitude

Gratitude is today.

Erroll played in the Band

Slack with wind
Gloom and doom were out leveraged by bloom, for still trees

leave us

with honey bees, sunflower seeds

and lifted images, beckoning peace.

The weather is temporary
and burden wavers with will.

Grandiose, as it were.
Young, elegant and ornate feet tread a sullen path upon the fair concrete.
Overlapping, eroding and deleting the footsteps of those,

who only years ago

awoke and peered out windows, to see the wind blow
from a garage,

or smokey club.

The cinematic interludes that delved and danced amongst the heart's embraces.


It was cosmic. She and him.

A smoke filled ballroom,

a drum sounding off the heart's beat...within chest, and without.

A guitar licks, like tongues flick in kisses.
When all is fog, but the sound and its blisses.

And the wind,

the wind and the whine,
and the day,

left behind.

She was golden,
he was stolen,

the moment...sifted away, like sand.

All that they had.

was the sound of Erroll,
who played in the band.

Dear Gotosh

There will always be tempests of change.

Weather and its parents - the seasons will travel in,

wear their wears. Place themselves in your environment. And sometimes you may restlessly wander upon the landscape.
The crackle of leaves rustling beneath your feet.
Fleeting squirrels bustling aimlessly.

With each sunrise, a sunset had begun.

the cycle continues...hill, slope, plateau, hill, slope, etc.


It is in the clouds that the meaning of clarity is realized, as one can not know good without bad.


Still waters breed tidal boars, if not in your today then always a tomorrow. Your best choice is to wade through the current, raincoat on back and wearing your finest Sunday shoes.

You will never know what you can come across, however permanent, however temporary.

Evil comes in all shapes and sizes, but largely are the result of bad decisions. Pause, pick each step. Your right, then your left...legs alternate between the fates. For in the wisdom of those Fates, you're right, then you're wrong.

Angels descend from the heavens providing beckoning and longing for purity in man. They swim about the abyss that is your dreams and dance across your guise in every waking moment. Most of them only want to take you with them, but are not aware of the trip required.

Dive in these pools with no inhibition, yet know the pool is shallow.

Melted ice and burnt rice only come when you don't have the time in life for the things that are important to you.


Dream life, live dreams.

Your 1 year reflection

Some nights you will awaken in stirs.

Your bleary eyed vision of the room around casts you into a vortex of imbalance, confusion and dizziness.

Aim left of center.

On the somber mornings, when cloud cover follows your shadow. It is then that it is always hardest to look forward to the day. No sunrise to watch,

unaware of the setting sun apart from the absorbing darkness.

It is this time that trees bear themselves to the world. For they shed their cloth.

And this fine linen of the earth lay in tatters.

Discoloured, drab

The search for inspiration in itself seems tiresome. Motivation seems twelve times harder to engage.

Unquestionably, it is the event that casts the inspiration which truly is the holy grail. Sometimes unattainable. It comes with the currents and rescinds like the tide. It is passion that brings inspiration about. In my time it was thrown into girls, sports and books. All of which led me apart from the other. Nothing truly united this or remained permanent. My inspiration had hung in flickers.

It could be a miraculous notion to find permanence in existential elements.

The gloomy days that I describe can take complete wind out of your sails.

Their needs to be the constant, truly unconditional inspiration that keeps you going, barrelling through life, getting better, running stronger. Don't seek this in anyone else, seek it from yourself.

Nowadays, I see how you think. I watch you search. What's inside, impacts the outside.

For everyday that nature casts its sad eye on this world, you are still whole.

There is always a parade, always a funny clown and the heavens that shine down its stars upon you, whether veiled or unveiled.

Wait for the Hook

In mere moments or seconds of rhymin'
You can spread the thighs of her eyes
and put your mind in.

Signin'
Language of words in action.
Lacked the physical attraction
but crave the interaction.

And so be passive magic.
From rigid to flacid.
Destined for tragedy
With visions of majesty.

And nothing else.

A pause.


"...staring at my hands, waiting for the slickness to surface on the palms. And peer out the window again..."

Feeling burning glances,
Crossed arm stances.

Once enchantress,
now she's danceless.
No kisses or hips to barter
For temporary exchanges

with tentative partners.

What Measure?

The Orpheus of the evening.
In truth, all songs in my head.

Feverish in many minutes, but cooled in the hereafter.

My burden is to burden those that burden the burdened.

Under what measure? What measure is most accurate?

Atop the sidewalk.
You will dwell with regulars, irregulars, incontinence, fear and loathing.
Delve away from rationale and deal with emotion.

I moonwalked aloft the many tragedies that at first were self-concocted.
The shovel was not handed to me to dig a grave.

In my glide,
my slide,
I happened upon it, picked it up and started digging.

When I bottomed out, I decided to dig to my side.

There I found you.
Like a rope you hoisted me from my pit to the wind.

Self-resurrected?

Hardly, I created you to have you save me and create the empirical methodology for such, only to give it all to the rest of the world.

By what measure will you succeed?

Well...by the same measure that possessed me to qualify and quantify the other-worldly decisions I made and continue to make.

Measure.

Measure it all.

Not by the metric of the world.

But your own, where you are in your day.


This day is mine. I am bruised, battered and ever prouder for my wounds...


and of course, this awakening.

...if only Atlantis

Splayed about the open waters
Truant boats afloat
Thought about his long lost daughter
Damsel, distress, castle, moat

Rainfall had been years abound
Within the sun's rays he drowned

Driven by only tides and currents
Wayward direction in hand's of the divine
The swells and rocking, nauseous motion
Late night, early morning, too much wine

Thirsty skin, like a desert town
Salt licked lips, his sweat trickles down

Hallucinations beg for an oasis,
Yet no birds to validate the truth
The mind plays films of heart's desires
Sandwiched by the sky and ocean, blue

Eyes glued upon the horizon,
Waiting for hints of distant islands


and silence


Be it golden,
for what the earth covets lest beholden

Paths in water, lead to woe
For paths in water will sooner close.

"If only boats could never sink
If only brine could be the drink

If only waves rocked to sleep
If only in happiness, could one weep

If only they vanquish darkness and sadness
If only it were you
...if only Atlantis"