Poems

I am often seen prowling this promenade, Staring out at the changing tempers of the sea By the many lights of days and nights. Time and the waves overlap here in the tides;

Do I dare to show myself? To take my book from off its shelf And open it up to the world. To go beyond the decorations curled Around its spine and make them see

Running and running, unsure for how long; Or why, or where to and never what from. We know only, forever, this rushing along. Upward, onward and endless it seems -

Fibonacci sequence poem written for the pentathalon.

I was made from the sweat of a man and the flesh of a tree With turpentine mixed into walnut-oil blood And then set free, with polished form and chiselled line,

The black boots looked fine on him still, Pristine and shining in the flare's illumination As it lit the degradation of everything else. Mud and...