Thirty years ago in Boston, on the most infamous of dates; I opted going to a well-known singles...
Narrowing perspective normalizing failure Safety in numbers
In clear light all is one Kindness measures strength wielding the blown hair sword
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Streams of golden light watch the soaring sunset kites fly belt of Venus
I control myself, Except when I choose not to, Itâs my decision!
A heated temper Smoulders like volcanic ash Compressed words erupt
Moon is in the trees owl´s eyes still the shadow´s creep Ravens haunt the mist
Among the ruins, of what they claim is progress, some merely survive.
Buddhist monks building their holy house of order, through meditation.
At the old Headland, the wind's discordant music; the cries of seagulls.
This chameleon, purveyor of many styles, trailblazed through decades.
More angel than ape, poets transcend the drabness, of these mortal realms.
Between old lovers, smiling eyes, and the knowing light of contentment.
Decaying beauty: rusted red, gold and brown leaves scattered across parks.
Bright colours of leaves, illuminate these dull streets, in the autumn rain.
A mountainâs edges, moonlit, Jupiter the ruler â truffles awaken
When a loved one dies, his or her spirit remains, in our memories.
