Counting Dragons. 


Counting Dragons.



Exhaustion set in and I float through the patterns of sleep.

I covet the black counting dragons not sheep.

I carve dreams into mud and watch the great mother weep

as she sweeps todays insults of unresolved streets.

Intentionally I reach for nothing

to feel the wind between my fingers.

I play on soundless pockets of air

and chaos gives way to my silent symphony.

You and I are much the same.

Binding our identities to opened garden gates

so bees may have their freedom to roam.


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You are home. 


You are home.




Lit from within I bask in the unsubtle glow of mornings smile.

You move like the whispers of flowers

and I dive deep into your blue.

Caught in the cyclical gravity of your hands

shuddering as they hold my back.

Your spine, the calligraphy of my sun.

In between the pages of my day

I feel your sway drawing me in.

One memory away I covet your softness.

Long I waited to share this space

to study the landscape of your face

and carve it into my sacred.

Your heart an alter for the divine

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She kisses my face. 


She kisses my face.




Oh, how I love you.

Walking on the gentle exhale of natures light

thoughts delight in the sun's gentle reflection

on dew covered leaves.

I lean gently with the trees

into the wind.

She kisses my face.

Too often we forget the resistance of grace.

Life made easy is to choose ease.

Life made dark is to choose darkness.

We sit alongside our own river and streams

and play with the nature of the stars.

To find meaning is a fools errand

to be happy meaning exists

is a gentle shift in…

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The movement of light that is your casual palm

tracing through the bubbling thoughts

and golden hair.

Breathing in the line where the sun meets your face.

You are a poem manifest

and I want nothing more than to watch you breathe.

The lingering taste of coffee beans on your lips

you have become the equation

of my deepest exhale.

I kiss your sleeping eyelids

and follow their gaze to the softness of your chest.

I want nothing other than this place.

Death is but a blurred line between art…

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Southern winds. 


Southern Winds.




You are the action of wonder

and the unyielding light,

kept in the whispering flowers of storytellers.

I hold you to me

and find mountains where lips smile.

Loving you has changed me,

Loving you has made me

the man I always wanted to be.

I inhale so deeply I don't want to blink,

just sink into the holding of hands

and watch unmade and unwanted plans

fall into the shape of this love.

This love, once reticent.

This love, the taste of rain.

This love, a morning sun.

This love…

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Gentle rain. 


Gentle rain.



In anticipation of gentle rain

in the wanting of dry mouths.

Bare feet brave hot sands


Why fear the sun when we are made of light?

It takes one more drop of water in the ocean

to break every damn

and flood every city.

It takes one more act of love

to heal every fear

and remind hearts that they are mighty.

Do not underestimate

the pitter patter of gentle feet

and the beating of wings.

Delicate feathers when banded together

take flight.

Lay with the meek

and on subtle…

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Angels in chalk. 


Angels in Chalk.




The truth of all freedoms is a break in the rain

and I wait patiently for the next wave to teach me.

Life has a centre and I tether to it every idea that weighs me down.

I am the keeper of my own secrets

and yours too.

Behind that which is forceful I remain patient

knowing that one day you will join me.

I draw angels in chalk where devils play

and melt into sandcastles to hide the notes passed

where desks used to stand.

But now the schools are empty.

Children play by the rules of…

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Coffee Cup. 

Coffee cup



My life is at the bottom of a coffee cup,

and thoughts are all I have left to paint.

Peace inside the pressure that is the weight upon my shoulders,

Over and over I run the race with myself.

Not enough.

No matter what I turn my hand to.

I wash them both in the rivers and let myself fall through.

Mountains upon mountains

Fire is my climb,

The burn marks healed of passion


Written into my spine.


As I lay in a day without sun I wonder

is there light at all?

Embers of a forgotten…

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Viking to bear. 


Viking to bear.



Thought deep in the sanctity of restless sleep

I joyously wrestle with a talkative night

chatter bites at a mind unkept

and brings to the drawing board all the experiences

I have swept under the lining of a life that looks managed.

You can't build a castle on a foundation that's damaged.

You are born of Kings

the evolution of a scripture

adding your own colour to a badly drawn picture

Unravelling old truths in my heart I know

inner peace is the soil on which integrity grows.

I wash…

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Nine Rivers. 


Nine Rivers.



Divide the nine rivers

that run barefoot through battered trees.

Grass stains on bruised knees

ingrained in the ways of hurting the self.

Storms in the place of thoughts

that rocked the sleep

gave birth to sullen eyes

worn by children born to kill indifference.

We are those that choose left or fight.

Unrecognisable as our scriptures take fight

in the form of tears soaked into beards.

How dare the bare chested cry.



Lose yourself as winds beat fierce.

Breaking glass crushed by hands

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My face.



Collect Originals.