Prefer the Darkness

Wind whips wind ships
Me to places new
Sometimes I think
I prefer the darkness
The treasures lost in snow
I might never find

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Snow

I feel a peace and stillness
In my soul
In the sight and silence
Of the snow

Become Ordinary

Life is so unconscionably cruel
By giving us more
It takes away
The more you love
The more you will miss
When love has dwindled to dust
And so we must be Spartans
Granting ourselves only fleeting pleasure
After much discipline
That we may trick life
And make the ordinary seem a gift
And any hardship or trial
A reward for those few stolen heartbeats
When we remember careless nights
On the French Riviera
You and I and the unmapped future
Of youth
What I would give to have that back now
I knew it was special then
Now I realise it was priceless
No billionaire could buy that mind of unbridled optimism
You were the greatest lay I ever had
But had we stayed together
So many years later
Might we be bored with one another?
And so like the Spartan I should perhaps be grateful
For these bitter ashes, these memories undimmed
My regrets now are my pleasure
For unsullied they are
By succession
And the numbing turn of the years
So I remember you now, lost love
Lost life
And celebrate that I never knew you
To become ordinary

Discipline of Breath

Discipline of breath
You need less air than you think
Slow strokes take you home

Icebergs

Luminous icebergs
In a moonlit azure sky
Slowly drifting by
Like the days of my life
Beautiful from far away
Like the sound of wind
In distant pines
Hinting at things we cannot see

Lightning Rod

Writing is my lightning rod
It is no source of joy in itself
But the well worn conduit through which I find release

Shit Storm

Resent the now
Because something else should be
No one’s fault
But the fool you were
When you made the choices
That now enslave you
Perhaps you knew this was
The hardest path
But took it anyways
Or was blinded
By your own arrogance
And assumptions of growth
Forgetting you’re just a man
With an expiry date
And a mind not half so clear
As the pool that reflects the moon
The fate of an intelligent idiot
Is to get everything he planned for himself
And miss all he could have had
By accident
So full up with all he knows
He can’t see the vast sea he’s never sailed
Better by far to be ignorant
And know it
Such a man can never be taken by surprise
Expecting at any time
To fall from grace
Into another shit storm

Discomfort

If one wishes to become hypersensitised to discomfort
One only needs to stay comfortable at all costs
If one wishes to lose all enjoyment in life
One needs only indulge in every whim

How to Write Poetry

How to write poetry
With a screaming toddler
And a nagging wife?
I suppose it should be here
As much as in the dreams of my youth
Nights of smoke and beer
And pregnant possibility
If only one knows how to look

Before the Fall

The winds of autumn call me
Take joy in drawing in of night
Shadows and leaves crowd the borders
Each bright morning less defiant than the last
Each dragonfly along the fence
Drinks deep the dregs of the year
One last toast before the fall

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