2 faces of love

I tossed a coin.
It landed face-up saying ‘Do it!’,
continued spinning like the sun.
I guess it would have turned
around forever if I hadn’t
grabbed it, stopped it,
tossed again.

It landed on ‘humility’,
melted,
flowed across the wooden
man-made table top
as if a gob of treacle,
sweet. I gathered up the syrup and
I tossed a coin.

Anger from the Downs'

You’re not well, daddy, brain is sick;
your big mind lays – will lay – to
waste all richness and delight.
I glance and gaze – and shall we touch?

You daren’t! I could call forth a tear,
a growl or little spit. In mind
you curl your fungus tongue and choke
me up in stuff. Strive to beat me.

Slow, alone, you’ll soon be bored. Kill
me off as odd or stranger, mongol,
retard. Miss the point, it’s Christmas
mate and I’m a greater gift;

a well-wrapped part of you that only
you can ever feel through me. A turn
into reality and beauty;
way before the snake – your fall.

Hearts and Minds

To find true love and not deceit
is impossible through mind
because this brain’s a beat
behind
my knowing heart - an enemy
twisting masks of tangled wire

but truly, love, reality
desires to come at you with fire
and burn our minds away
and up into another clarity.

Distraction

Burnished gold
will catch you eyes
whether you’re bold
or sad or even wise
but still it’s cold.

Petal

Time’s illusion’s
a speculation.

A yellow rose,
vibrant, softened,
falls in Autumn;
petal dropping, leaf and stalk,
with hardly any echo.

If only I could know that echo;
catch it now as rose
or flower pattern,
cycle season,
losing form

and heading out – away
into the void.

Jesus' Christmas Message

Enough is enough;
you’ve been cooking too long for
my birthday party.

Stalking Flowers

Lilies stand like snowcapped mountains there,
rising green but, strangely, bigger at
the top; kind of inverted, growing fat
the more they stretch away into thin air

and now the flowers bend as if to bow
all heads and turn from green to silky white,
shining, reaching down in patient light;
mouths outreaching slowly, oh so slow

they suck towards the ground with milky shawls
turning slower than an eye can see;
aliens that need an insect’s hair,
cunning, deadly, stirring up a gene pool
into procreation, ruthlessly
blasting out a sweetness everywhere.