Children of Dreamers


Children of Dreamers

Hail, great Automatons!
Children of the Industrial Age and
Grand Children to the Victorian.
Hark, how they forsake their
Great Grand lineage of Dreams.

Great grandfather was a Dreamer.
He had Dreams; he sought Change
for his children’s betterment, and
so he Wandered —
Lonely as a Cloud.

In pensive Solitude he found
majesty in Simplicity.
Belittled by Nature and
humbled in Introspection,
he went forth and Changed.


in the dead of the night
howl so.
hair raising, blood curdling in
awesome arresting silence.
Silver drops
rain like bullets
smash onto glass
breaking cracking obliterating.
Echoes of silence ringing,
Ringing, ringing;


whirring –

Eighty eight point nine?
Ninety nine point five?
Nighty five point zero?
Eighty eight point …
Sod it.

Zhep-zhep, zhep-zhep.
Exeunt number 5.
Steel up, man up, Smile.
The little trooper needs to know
daddy’s home and
everything’s gonna be a ok.


Sketch a Scream

Sketch a Scream

We all have our silent screams and
Perhaps our voices being insufficient,
We seek out canvasses to paint on;
Some of us find them,
some of us don’t.
This is mine.

What about?
There is so much to paint,
But there be not enough colours.
Still I sketch and sketch,
Hoping that one day there will be colours
Enough to fill that canvas
Before I am called
From this Emptiness to the Next
Which is His.

What then?
This Journey doesn’t end.
It continues, so they say;
So they tell me, it says.
In the Book, I’m told that
Truth resides there.
But I tell you —
Truth is.
That is Ours.

It’s in your heart,
It’s in mine;
It’s in the Soul,
This Journey.
Thus is Mine.


The waxing moon is setting
In the West as I drive home,
over theĀ  chimneys
of the refineries there.
Orange, in a half smile,
almost as if in mocking
the turmoil within.

Somewhere in the shadows,
Jack sways stiffly
on a rusted spring,

over his faded box.
Its lid jammed open, and
wind-up key locked in its twelve-six position.
Jack’s eternal grin
and silly hat,