Haiku #452

What words cannot do I do to you. What the eye cannot see Mist-ree…

Haiku #115

My cup filled itself My cup filled itself again My cup filled itself

Little Ride

I had a car and thought I was doing fine but it took  a little ride at the fairground on some merry-go-round that rose and fell with piped music running through my veins to make me realise that  I froze with the motion into nothingness. The air was cold. The blood in my veins felt

Gold is Rubbish

Metronome made of gold does not tick Clock made of gold does not tock. Crampons in gold do not stick to rock ice ax fashioned from gold doesn’t go in Golden shoes are thrown in the bin. So why do people make things out of gold?

The Man Who Couldn’t Write.

The man with gold lead in his pencil couldn’t write! He tried a gold paperweight on his desk but still the words would not come. A gold-tin he purchased containing gems and jewels and scattered them did all around his desk in the hope of inspiring him with beauty. Nothing came. A name, a game, insane.

Brute

Truth is waxy like the back of a toad and contains hallucinogenic qualities.

Road

A road begins but never ends.

Box

A box without a label is still a box.

How I got here

I know not from where I came Only How I got here.

Death On the Moor Chapter 2

The keys on my keyboard are full of magic. They should believe in themselves! It’s Christmas again and the movies are playing on television as the big day looms ever closer. Hams and Turkeys are flying off the shelves at supermarkets up and down the country. Dads are stocking up on beer and candles and