A Kodiak Moment

I could crush you in an instance,

My little friendly fly,

Instead I let you be;

I let you fly, fly, fly.

You grow big and bold,

Around me flying,

Testing and trying,

You only see the soft warm fur,

And not the inside, cold,

The animal: the bear.

You prod me and push,

Your greed has gotten the best,

You want more than the flowery lush;

But with it comes the rest.

Teeth, too much and I will bite,

You do not cage what cannot be,

Your life has gone on much too long,

A meat stamp saying; 'trite'!

Don't push it, don't push me,

No one outlives the bite.

The First Coach of the Morning

A deathly silence

In a waiting room,

Silence

Like everyone was leaving for good;

Itching,

Itching and shuffling,

Itching and shuffling

In their there seats.

Creeping,

Creeping eyes,

Creeping spidery eyes,

Creeping spidery eyes on doors

And walls,

On windows;

Digesting my substance,

Sucking it out from my skin,

Leaving me wrinkled and empty.

Creeping,

Creeping and slinking,

Like a scream

The creeping slinking rustle of a crisp packet;

Creeping and slinking around the room,

From their bench over there,

By the stairs;

Where the stares breed stares.

The creeping slinking rustle

Like the pitter-patter of mice feet.

I sit, unnoticed, seen,

And ignored,

With every inch of me examined

And judged.

The sun sits on top of me,

Baking me,

Like a meringue,

Slowly, so ever so slow,

And the silence only gets louder,

And the stares become sinister

As paranoia creeps up the stairs;

And I sit there baking alive in the sun,

Half dead,

I sit there and I don't move,

I sit in silence;

Just a fly on the wall.

There Is Always A Sequel

People ask me nothing;

I have no answers to give,

To any questions that can be asked.

Can you answer?

Then answer this,

And lets start at the bottom,

With the easiest of all,

Can you tell me what our purpose is,

Can you tell me why we live?

You can utter a pretty argument,

That looks pleasing to the eye

And might fill a big dusty book.

Why? This life,

Our existence, it does not give a fuck!

For what reason do we look for love,

For what reason do we feel emotion?

Do we live to fight and kill each other,

Do we live to expand our theories?

Should we live to smile

Everyday?

To never grow old or get sick,

What will we do when they drop that bomb,

Or there is no more room at the Inn?

No questions have ever really been answered,

Only guessed at, because

No one really knows where to begin.

Please don't ask me for any answers,

I only know as much as you.

They never reveal the plot,

Never in the first half,

So lets stick around for part-two.

The Baby Blackbirds Nears It's Winter

As little Katia rocks our shores,

A baby blackbird puffs up,

As he lands within the lawn.

I look from out the window

And wonder for a minute;

Will these little birds in the garden,

Survive the cold winter.

I sit, elderberry pips in teeth

And purple stained fingers,

Watching the early Autumn winds,

Dance gaily through,

Those sleepy Summer trees.

And all around there is a journey beginning,

A transition, through time and through space;

But I'm lost, on the wrong track,

Keeping the wrong pace in the wrong place,

And I don't know if I will ever find my way back.

I shall keep walking into the Winter's light,

And keep that baby blackbird in mind,

For he is either food for thought,

Or in the distant sweet Spring's

Sweet spring-song I shall find.

Will he hear me there,

Among the fresh grass-shoots too?

I doubt it so, for hungry I shall be,

In the shadows and trees

As I am used to,

And always shall forever be.

Yet in this early Autumn wind,

I can hear the call

Of a home I do not know,

I hear this call

And like a dog to his master, I just want to...

I can't find my way back,

If I can't ever remember leaving,

I'm just that little baby blackbird,

Out in the Winter's snow, freezing

The Line Up (Wooly-back Big Brother)

He wakes up every morning,

A quarter hour before going to bed,

And hangs his washing

By an open fridge instead.

He learnt to swim,

From a wayward motorboat,

And he always bathes, in a duffel coat.

Now, when he goes out,

On a date with a lady,

He always gifts her,

A large jug of gravy;

But if they spill just one drip,

For them,

It's a punch in the lip,

For he learnt that from the land navy.

Now he has got green hair,

And eyebrows that meet,

But nothing distracts,

From him having hands as feet,

This doesn't deter him much though,

As he is the only woman I know,

Who talk on the phone, knit, make tea and hang the washing (by an open fridge),

All in one go,

So it only goes to show...

That we all know what we know,

And if haven't seen this girl,

With the beard that meets half-way,

And the bottom so rotund,

You could balance the dinner tray,

Then it is probably because they don't want to meet you.

Love?

Love.

Love is what we see,

When we pass by shop fronts,

Stroll by restaurant and cafe windows

In the streets.

It is what we feel

Before any touch;

Long before

Any words are spoken.

It is the birth of an idea,

The flourish of light

Within a cloud-filled sky,

And the flash of a camera,

Capturing all that is good,

But not something seen.

Love;

The oil rainbow on a puddle,

So perfect and pristine.

So long as it is left alone.

Love hangs

Like a black cloud,

Threatening to rain at any time.

Love gives people wrong ideas,

And bad impressions.

Love kills more men

Than hate ever could;

It takes judgement and morals,

Crumples it up with what you once cared for,

And throws the whole lot out of the window;

And still

People are looking so hard for it,

They miss it almost every time.

Love is here,

It is always just a moment,

And never a lifetime.

Love is that smile,

Exchanged with a beautiful stranger

As you pass them by,

Probably never to pass again.

Love is the wind and the rain,

When you reach saturation

And stop caring;

When you look to the heavens,

Stare the storm straight in the eye,

And laugh.

Love is in that moment,

When you look out at the world

And all its grandeur,

When you see yourself

As nothing more than another

Worthless animal,

Love is when you see this,

Love is when you feel this is right.

Or maybe I am wrong?

Maybe I face the wrong way,

Is love not this?

Or is love in the unity of a man and a woman,

Those that live within each other;

That compromise,

And work out something they can both enjoy;

Something not quite what either would love to do.

Maybe this is love,

Maybe putting yourself within someone

For long enough to reach, at least a little, dependency

Is what love really is.

Either way love is something to live,

To live in fear of,

To view from a distance,

And to enjoy at your own risk.

To Those That Fall (In Protecting Us All)

O glorious giant glowing bow,

Forwarding into the unknown;

And taking with you some good men,

Whose bodies they have outgrown.

You move silently

Into the nighting North sea,

Taking these good men back home,

To where these good men should be;

In Heaven, in peace,and in rest,

Their bodies all angels doth bless,

And lest we are

To never forget;

These men,

These boys:

Our best of the best.