The run aournd

Some place where the sun is but a yellow ball in the sky

And no sound echoes in the rivers of night

Animals walk without fear in their heart,

shades of colors feast for the eyes

When those who stare can only see the run around

Places as far and wide as the universe spins

to edges of the mind where only the children can sing

Far into the land of mist they travel

in a water basket of musty old bagles

Where those who care only find the run around

In a gentle grasp of a wave gone wrong

the chalice of gold is now lost yet found

nothing good from darkness can come

but still it is near ever to be bound

And those who can feel find the run around

Note: A little poem that came from nowhere, settled in my mind and left to be here…


Slow (30/03/2014)

Silence is stiffening for a flower that is screaming

Darkness is bright for a child that is blind

Yellow and Red and the colors of the dead

When ember and blood emerge from the flood


It is the wind that picks it up

Swirls like a question mark that lost its dot

In the end there is a robotic slave that lives

Where dreams are made and the your are free

Final retort

Fear of an answer

Is what keeps us guessing

Not demanding a question

After a history lesson

Life’s own mirror session


Rendering truth unknown

Eating a mouthful

To the future shown

Others have tried

Responses are gone

Today’s end is just a stone


20/03/2014 (final retort appears twice in this poem, once is the title…)

Red Flow

The bags are full the mystery untold

Lungs are whole but the wings reformed

Embers of light where shadows lie

Cries at night reach out to the sky


If life could unfold a truth told

Breaking a rule out of truth’s hold

In all of the paintings color revoked

Music flows in a story for the world


Stars shine in a canvas of fire

The edge of time reaches higher

Borrowed story in a heart of a liar

Never to change into a red flower



Circle of eight

While life passes before out eyes

We are stuck doing things we don’t want

Stars our destination, when we are locked

Forever in turmoil of our own omnipotence

The circle of eight moving on to a destination

Blinded forever for one’s own importance

Living and dying in a blink,

Dumping the fears in the sink.


Note: The circle of eight refers to a group of eight wizards, which are supposedly incredibly powerful.


With the sun its love awakens.

The setting rays leave it crumbled.

Endless love flourishes, when met together

Utter destruction when one is alone.

Within its beauty it keeps the secret of life.

One which some disregard and are left unturned.

Others share finding their souls home.

A circle that never stops with two sides,

That will always seek with the hope to find.