John thebarman

In howling storm,
you are alive, waiting for me.

Here, now!
...

They said she read,
just endlessly,
novels and poems,
escaping into a new awareness of somewhere else
...

Yesterday, I put you to the saw,
sawed you limb from limb
and cut your trunk
to six inch slices.
...

...

What shall I wear for you?

"Purple velvet
and gloves with leopard spots"
...

Born of the spring sun
from sticky buds.

Flirty, your lyrical leaves
...

Sea Roars the Last Mantra (Tràigh Varlish, Vatersay)

I passed the most westerly house,
and through the last gate
...

One note on my flute awakens another.

Gulls call from city roofs and village piers.
Cockerels awaken the country.
...

I am
today
the sacred peaks,
the melting snow,
...

So full of such abundant flow,
the infinite drops
from heaven pour
into the fall.
...

Heart of the wood,
this foxglove,
whose softly sensual mouths,
forgiving as dune sand,
...

All was in order in the shack where the window framed a long deserted beach.

Black paper was neatly stacked, two bamboo brushes of fine brown hair rested in a rack alongside a bottle of white ink.
...

...

In my head
the voices,
all human,
...

The evening sky burst
heavenly blue
and fantastically
a couple of Martins flew.
...