Lay Him Down

Where does the Ranger go
To lay him down
To lay his head
And Rest forever
Where does he go
To let things slow
Down forever and
Never to go
Out into the world
Save his last Journey
From death to dust
Will he slow
Down in silence
Amidst the cacophony
Of the Wayward Inn
Amongst the Ancient trees
By Heros, Thieves and Travellers
In mystique and miscomprehension
He will go
Tight lipped straight faced and


Sol’s Twin


Sol’s Twin

From nothingness
there was light
Blinding white &
Pulsing life
A heartbeat
Then two.
Twins they were
As they turned blue
They danced
They played
around and around.
Till energies expended
Their blues faded and
One said
“I’m tired, Brother.
Must we carry on?” and the
Other replied
“Come, Brother.
I will shield thee.”
Then two became one
And he turned yellow.
Alone in space
He wept tears of flame
But noticed his tears
Brought life forth.
So a guardian he became
once again.
Giving his soul and heart
To feed these lives
He brought forth
He grows ever larger still
And still gives yet more.
And more and more
Till yellow fades
Into red
The final scream
When the reaper comes
To suck the life
of the old giant
nothingness returns
Space reclaims the brothers’
Playground and the life
He nurtured.


Who Am I?

Who am I
But a Spectre in the Wind
Floating free
But locked in Limbo
Soaring great heights
In Silence
Zooming so fast
That time stands still.

I am that Spectre
That all know so well
Yet ignore and dismiss
In jest.
In Jest – is my form such
Comedic play?
You laugh at me
I laugh with you;
“The Spectre is so funny,
He makes us laugh,” you say
As you walk away.

“Well…Ta-ra now! Be good! Be happy!”
The Spectre waves madly,
His welcome grin replaced slowly
By a forlorn smile…
“Chin up, old chap.
They’ll come again…
When they want a bit of fun…
They almost always do…
Well most times…
Perhaps the odd occasion?”

So the Spectre floats free
High and Wide,
Fast and Slow,
School boy grin on his aged face,
Seeking but not searching
For the next campfire
And maybe perhaps…
The light at the end of the Tunnel.
But see there in his pocket?
He pats it oh so gently
As he hums a joyful tune
To a blue robot cat
Whose magical pocket
Might fulfil his requests and dreams.
He pats his pocket, & pats & pats:
And flies away humming.

Eat to Sleep

Eat with such rambunctious joy and fervour,
that your body be weak
from the lustful throes of
tongue and teeth on cheek and palette.
Let the food moan and whisper in their grasps,
before succumbing
to that relentless push-pull that sends flavourful juices ejaculating,
streaming,  dribbling.
Down the pipe
some dribbling down the chin

See what chore it is! Alas!
It is back to bed then!  Alas!
Then wake again and
eat again! Alas!

[Posted as a comment to friend’s status update about decisions]


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.