Those Few
Everyone
is born unique
But many die
as clones
Lost of promise
Grace endowed
With joy bereft
a drone
Everyone
His image shared
Till falling
from the Light
Beatific
Vision lost
Alone
— to face the night
(The First Book Of Prayers: February, 2026)
From The Maelstrom
We are
separate
We are
distant
We are
many
— we are one
From the
cities
From the
country
From the
maelstrom
— we become
(Dreamsleep: February, 2026)
So Close And Yet ...
Feasting on the
lettered law
Abandoning
its spirit
Crippled by
the sanctioned rules
Afar
— when we’re so near it
(Dreamsleep: February, 2026)
In The Offing
Poetry
is the weight training
of writers
Building new couplets
each musing
reweighted
Lactic
endowment
new pain in old phrasings
Success
in the offing
— as writing expands
(Dreamsleep: February, 2026)
nothing there would be
without the vast Universe
no humans, land, sea
none here for better or worse
no lineage and odd verse
with no galaxy
adrift in cosmic darkness
no angst, apathy
rather complete absurdness
wrapped in unholy starkness
without stars above
could there still be you or me?
no rush, push or shove
all silent with nought to see
without longings roaming free
no blue, green planet
circling the Great Attractor
no floors of granite
no acts by a strange actor
sin becomes a non-factor
none subject to change
no progress or thoughts divine
nothing to arrange
no strange dreams or past bed-time
bound inside the timeless time
without history
when ancestors were not born
total mystery
when from existence we're shorn
leaving none to weep and mourn
such is human debt
while life is in the offing
driven to regret
when cosmic paths are crossing
'tis not dice we're tossing
When the weatherman warned
of 50% rain in the offing he neglected to state
and neither advised nor informed
what the other half would advocate
perhaps hail sleet smog snow
or fleecy fluffy clouds
floating overhead instead
and if so I wonder where they go
wind-blown oh so far away
I guess we'll never ever know
meanwhile we'll have to wait
to see what his non-prediction
weather-wise will precipitate
Spreading like covid
your words it infects
Through vowels into consonants
each phrase it subjects
No drug can divert
fated spores on the wind
Arriving like locusts
attacking within
The Muse has been stricken
her voice it impales
While spreading to others
each time you exhale
The body count deepens
your messaging damned
No cure in the offing
— dead silence at hand
(Dreamsleep: December, 2025)
They begin sipping then supping the Best on cask
Charlie the legend of the barley does a guest ask
What are you up to for the rest of the weekend?
Well regulars would often become a good friend
With a big grin..they swig & say…not a lot mate
Won’t go far…in the offing a spot of bar mat flipping
Will be here till late relishing & cherishing your beer
Gags & chinwags spin laughing gear quaffing just staying in…
Materializing
memory
photos on the wall
Immortalizing
tomorrow
vision to recall
Prescience
in the offing
feelings coming home
Sentience
remaking
— that forever known
(Dreamsleep: September, 2025)
As good
as they got
Clapton
Allman and Page
Their music
still borrowed
the Delta
on stage
Technique
in the offing
devoid
of the pain
As juke joints
and crop shares
sing out
— in refrain
(The New Room: August, 2025)
Pillars built on words,
Seeking votes with grand designs,
Offing yet unfixed.
©bfa042325
Learn to Fandango
castanet in your hand
Tambourine calling
its bells to command
Dance every Tango
before it’s too late
Death in the offing
— the wolf at the gate
(Dreamsleep: April, 2025)
I don’t know
what it is
I know
what it isn’t
Revealed
in the offing
An image
— takes form
(Dreamsleep: October, 2024)
in order to have bliss i run the risk
on the high-flying disk there is no resistance
my dreams need no practical means to reason
now that i have been given into this musing
two magnets touched by two different polarities
round and round the Karma card
Venus and Jupiter dancing in a figure 8
now that you've made the sun flip
giving and receiving are not different actions
said Metatron and Kali to the sugar-coated tongue
tasting the sweetflag and sweet cinnamon
now pacing with me one foxtrot step at a time
dancing in the end zone cheers and jeers
abundance lies in the heart that allows
if one can't see through the door, why bother?
now that your pride goeth before destruction
direct hard truth flexible with too quick to act
stars shine on both sides
you deserve better when hope is restored
now that there is no you at the head of the table
sleight of mouth que voulez-vous faire?
the sun is not a balloon you can string along
the offing is a vertical horizon
now that you have reincarnated yourself
there is a light that never goes out
The windmill is ready
the wind is not
Breezes far distant
never reaching the spot
Change in the offing
consent from within
One breath pouring outward
— and blades start to spin
(Dreamsleep: April, 2024)
Are those tears on my cheek, in my eyes,
at their peak? The melody speaks
so simply of love, of Sonny and Cher.
I share this idea that love can grasp,
whether moments in time, though
they don’t last, still looking back.
Looking back at my parents’ romance
who would’ve thought. No wonder
they were drawn to the duo,
dynamically funny and melodic.
May not be Bocelli and Dion,
“My Prayer,” but it reaches
to my deepest heart - to hear
from one another,
“I’ve got you, Babe,”
in all its nuanced and youthful ways.
Perfectionism, our eyes glaze over,
giddy with twin palpitations. No one
meets the standards. Grief
tears us apart. Some really believe
they had the perfect thing -
twisting the ring…ahh,
twisting the hair…ooh. Close to
heaven, but big galoot
you betray yourself - offering incense,
incensed at the offing…so deep
your chin hits the floor.
“Amazing Grace,” sets us back on our feet,
honoring God in life, at death.
Are those tears on my cheek, in my eyes,
at their peak? The melody speaks…
From the shores, I look into the waves
Her offing colors become my raves
The water goes - oh so deep
My continuing gaze goes within my sleep
Yes, I hear the waves, as I watch the incoming tide
I know those dreams - as I look back in time
My memories are at times in a searching flux
The thoughts billow, like the taste of salty brine
Oh, how the ocean currents flow
Now the tide goes away, but she will return
As with everything I love, I know she is mine.
... - ,.,-----
thoughts lick at my consciousness
distracting me from the warm embrace
of the colour pallet unfolding
I stare with myopic eyes at the kaleidoscope
endeavouring to discern the demarcation
of the edge of each shade
naming them as though they are listed on a colour chart
displayed at the local hardware store
but as soon as I have one splash of tint pinned down
it fades to be replaced by a more pleasing explosion of colour
a child’s toy impatiently twirled
a rainbow snipped into a multitude of shapes
in never to be repeated patterns
like an uxorious husband
it enfolds the evening sky in its loving embrace
its fleece soft fingers exploring
lulled into a unison of consent
with a barely perceptible rush of contentment
a slight sibilant sigh issues
memorialising daylight
clinging to the fringes of observation
the scene depicts its titular character
of moral decay
the riparian area jealously guards its supremacy
as hydrophilic plants are robbed of their splendour
in a final display of defiance
alluvial fans buffet against the offing
recombobulating
the natural order of Chaos:
The Great Deep of ancient mythology
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