WRITER’S BLOCK

I stare into silence

Empty space has no vision

Restless ghosts

Eat my words

HOLDING OFF DEATHS ADVANCES

the moon mocks my shadow
keeps gaining ground on me
like a child playing leapfrog

with an old man and his cane

UNTITLED

the days the months the years

hung out to dry

like my mother’s washing

on a frail clothesline

THE GOLDEN YEARS

73, feeling like a Samurai

with a dull bladed sword

singing into the blade of night

somewhere beyond the horizon

sailors buried at sea

rise in ghostly procession

skeletons sharing their secrets

with withered old men lined-up

like bowling pins

measuring them limb to limb

like a tailor sizing you up

for a perfect fit

UNTITLED

Monks in meditation

Have no need for

Explanation