A Southern temple

Here is part two as promised. 

Many colour bearing, is my towering refuge

Posing and striking down, the women climb you like ants

A taste of wealth for the Potbellied and seated men

So amply endowed are the gift of this red earth

I know thy tongue better than my own

Your labyrinth speaks more languages than Babel

A blood price for your embrace, yet your kindness traps

Wandering birds that forget to migrate

Sharp fanged and crimson is the Goddess

In her hand she holds a heart, maybe yours

Divine Southern land, so rich is your sanctum

The gold glitters brighter in the colour of your lamps

Every word an unwilling prayer, every corner history laden

Mislaid spiderwebs in the sun and wind, wash away like your equals

But you ancient earth still remain


This poem while written grew longer and became a prayer. I have broken it, today comes the invocation, tomorrow I will publish the praise.

The seasons of my homeland are always embracing

Of the other, always longing and dreaming

The monsoon is a far traveller, missed by a perspiring summer

A humid air haunts this tryst of eager lovers


Deep green is the forest cover, a tongue striking

Across the wet mossy rocks and unbroken forests

Yet I live upon a crisp air laden, high plateau

Thrusting up into many faint seasons, passing fancies


A youthful green and yellowing flowering trees, above me

Violet flowers of an edging creeper, in the corner of what I see

Should it bare that name, the summer sun climaxing

When no sweat it brings out of me, should I call it by it’s name?

On the warpath

Oh heart, how is it you were so quickly filled?
Like a cage awaiting a trapped bird
The fountains gushed overflowing
And in floodwaters do my horses drink
It is a strange and foreign coast
It is a wishing well over-delivering
How else could I be happy?

Finer Temptress

She spills silver on the borderlines

And foam on the wave edges

As she shines light into that mirror

Circling and drowning, over and over

Sinking in blood, wearing ample gold

Back up from the deep sapphire sea

Again to colour the mountains

And make the smooth leaves shine

The Sun sails to every shore

The wind blowing West

Deep in a heart

Oh evening shade in your embrace I am only a subtle glace
Yet this arcane environ of the night feels so much like home
A gasping breath is drawn like an arrow in daylight
Yet in shadows panic has no accusation it calls unto itself
Worse still is the more fragile tension behind an expression
Only alone can it break and set free the long trapped sigh

Blood moon

I heard a bird of the sea, so far inland

A bird of the mountains has followed me

To this desolate mainland, where we live

As though lost to islands deep in the Ocean

On the day of the lunar eclipse a morning bird

Called to me in the evening, but was nowhere

Lost to the sight as it sang it’s song of delight

Dream Stream

The sunken stream lays across the land like a trench
In my dreams I see it, the old snail’s den zigzaging
Beneath the treeline there is only throttled sunlight
Sometimes the tadpoles and coin sized fish see snakes
And the rusty riverbed holds roting mangoes and red seeds
On it’s fringes weeds and moss are quartered
All year round the tree trunks and river side drip water
Sweating in the heat, living, breathing, calling in my dreams

Oh so sleepless

From the long, long river, a world of struggle

From falling deep into the bitterest insomnia my words all muddled

Empty was the hazy night and the water in one long line

Empty of all life, the biting pain of the metal was all mine

In my palm was the skeleton key

In earshot was the rhyme of honeybees

Why would they call so deep into the night

Why did I not know to ask, as I walked into the archaic rite

Upon me befell the lurking beast common to all labyrinths

Upon me feel the fate of all tragedies, heroic strength

Caste aside by fate’s many threads

Caste blind into the silence of the many pathway’s of the afterlife – dead.

It’s hard to be honest

I woke up two mornings with a poem and it was perfect
Line after line without defect
Last night it was because I was upset
But this time the poem was set
And it would hit you with a magic spell effect
My stupid expectations met as only sorcery can let
But out the window it went
I feel like we fought even though we’ve not
And I get that you’re the one I got
But it still hurts a lot when I want a lot and you’re just not
I wish we had fought so I could say I deserved what I got
I guess I gotta let these things wait till we’ve actually met
So maybe this fracture can set and I can stop feeling so adolescent
I wanna scream that’s not what I meant
This really does feel a lot like embarrassment
Can I tell you that I don’t know you but I want you even if you’re a stranger I’ve only just met
It’s not charming or disarming to meet a pretty girl and to look for a outlet
But I’m going to tell you the truth that I like you in the pure stupid way of an adolescent
That’s what I meant even if this poem isn’t perfect


what a misty day, my reflection the only one

who I can console, shining in my soup bowl

still sweet, though I’ve lost my way

my siesta with an old photograph

a stone face, was the flower blossoming

your warm breath, under snow

from flower to moss, a chilling moon

what did you drink?

round and round…

went the glass bottle

windblown in the grove

soft drizzle and still alone