Discipline of Breath

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

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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

Careless breath

Splendid castles
Shattered by the careless breath
Of God

Skeleton 

So many memories
Old lives left behind
What remains?
A skeleton wearing today’s clothes
How I long for you
My anchor
To make all this real again

Biggest Fish

Life streams by
Water through the net
The few fish caught make us who we are
A pale distorted image
Of our own history
Easily lost in the eddies and swirls of living
While the biggest fish swims free

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

Till Winter

Birds chirp in the empty sky
Poplars reach for heaven
Only a few leaves left now
Till Winter

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

Warm Hay Barn

Autumn moon sails low
Over auburn trees and dew laden fields
A solitary cow lows at the creeping chill
She longs for an hour or two more
In the warm hay barn

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