Swans at Windenmere

The swans at Windermere were quite friendly:


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Dragon Be Bop frilly sticky things making noises in the night scarying the scary people and the scaries hanging around in the gardens of deeply disturbed minds thundering at my window

She sang to me (and told me no)

She sang to me
My sister Death
Of life and loss and sorrow
Her words bittersweet
My sister Death
Of a place with no memory or ´morrow


She spoke to me
my sister Death
whispered of dust and lace
Traced my scabs
My sister Death
And kissed my broken face

She told me no
My sister Death
And brought me to the floor
And I cried out to
My sister Death
As I could bear no more


Walking with Mind


As I walk a way
My mind trails my shadow

Buzzes around
sneaking in and out

tugging at my concentration
beating down my soul

Hey, it calls
Hey, it nags
Listen, I know what you are trying to do

It won’t work you know

Are you listening to me?


As I walk on and walk a Way
I leave behind…

For a while

A while of empty silence and then silence and then…

Hey, wait up
Why did you leave me there?
you shouldn’t have

I walk on and walk a way and think of water and stone and circles

and mind is lost in the rain

and mind is watching the stones in the water

and mind is lost in the joy of the circle

I walk a Way and mind is lost




And then…

Mind breaks in – rushes in

filling me with image after image after image


Mind rage is my rage and jaws clench

and fists harden and

I am no longer walking a way but towards

towards in anger

towards in unrest

Mind is happy to be mind and fist is fist is red mist…

and then…

Water and Stone and Circle are all known to mind

And so…


Word dropped
word whispered
word washed and repeated

Words in circles in spirals in water and in stone
Mind in words running and playing and finally loses itself

I walk a Way and silence and word speak

And so

A touch at my shoulder a warmth by my side
I walk a Way and the path is suddenly open

The Way – A way – a Way – away

I walk in silence and word

a way

The Ogre

An ogre may be fair in appearance
and give chaste replies whenever asked
but a faint scent ever of death and decay
to the keen mind always a cause of dismay
Its bosom may be lavishly ripe and full
luring the mind as do red to a bull
but as you grapple and grope foolishly brave
the flesh will be as if fresh from a grave

I myself was caught in a trance
invited to partake in a terrible dance
as night was aflame and my cheeks did burn
I was taken aback as the mark of the worm
appeared on her brow ever so clearly
as she closed to devour me ever so dearly


At the Crossroads

I know there are beings who dwell,
on the  white line twixt heaven and hell
They dance on the threads
And make up their beds
In the void between Letter and Shell

I know there are creatures who keep
in the mists ´tween awake and asleep
they prey on the dreams
caught up in the seams
abandoned or hidden too deep

I know of a lady Moon
At the crossroads she´ll play and swoon
With an old man of doors
And the one Christ abhors
She´d turn all secrets into a tune

By the Good Brother -2013