Will I?

I am not. Nor am I. Or am I?

Who am I? Who will I be?

Or become? Will I come?

I never am. We never are.

The distance

One.

One is what we call the distance

between nothing and the first—

the first of something, anything,

before the one that comes next.

Thine

Taylor, Hudson, I longed to be. 

His work, the weight, I sought for me. 

A heavy yoke, I wore; not free, 

Until I saw his rest in Thee. 

The Crux and the Chrysalis

Meaning is excruciating. Reality is crucified.

The pain, "the Scroll of Life of the Lamb Slain," before the world came, is plain in existence.

Existence is suffering. Death is destiny.

Resurrection is written in blood, "in the blood of the eternal covenant".

Solochosis

Like a gelded brumby, I fence-pace and spend long hours staring into the corner of this well-trodden mind.

I am captured and separated from my undomesticated kind.

Soul’stice roots

This wet winter soul’stice, drenched by this incessant dripping; torrential memories of a million moments lost: the company of companions I used to hold, not dear enough; new acquaintances without the notice nor need to want us.

Droubt

I'd unknow water writer bout

I done no war to right a droubt

Inexplicable

I am a raft on the dark wading for land

I am adrift in this rift trying to plan

I row in my hope making a way

On a draft that parts where I hold no sway

Two Tails

Mickey Duck was dux of luck with a head of ears and size

His shorts of extroverted red and yellow boots were prized

His gloves of white were cleaned at night much like his feathered back

His Big Black Book and iconic look brought cheers from zealous eyes

Dollatry

Eye doll a tree that seeming wise

Is good for life and pleasing eyes

I know it good inverted vile

Evil in virtue I defile

With A Little Help From Hattie

What would you think if I wrote out of rhyme?

Would you stand up and walk out on me?

Lend me your ears and I'll write you a poem

And I'll try not to verse absent-lee...

Forgone

I dreamt of a home with a wife and a cot

I knew of no host with strife and a lot

I longed for a house with a love and a knot

I knew of no hole with a life and a clot

Tribulation

Got to go down to turn and go up

My roller coaster no people line up

The remnant will fall about-face and refine

The test of the gold is the fire unkind

Yusuf

Something's not right, though it's more than a thing

Some things aren't right, though there are more than just some

This thing's got tight, though it's more than a sting

These things can't shiet, though there are some that just did

Sedimentary

Envy the bodily igneous

Born of red and river rock
I'm no island black or genius
They weighty wear with hardened care

Dirt

The dust does not know
Though it desires to grow
The stone that will be
Or the sand by the sea

Chide

I'm not the poet, I am a poem

Loan behold I'm bought and sold

It's old to me this poetry

Mystery hides what history abides

I resign

Waking in a wake

Walking to a wave

Weeping in a lake

Waiting on a lathe

Alex Graham McNulty

Alex-amber Rock-stone 

You stopped me with a start

I saw your name upon a bench

Without your beating heart

You-vee

Sunfalls on my balding skin

Soothing my autumn May within

Thinning idly away I be

Viz. visibly vis-à-vis me

Property

I feel my fingers fiercely

Folding, clenching tight

On naught besides myself

And these fists full of fright

What’s her name?

I walk beside my quiet brook 

And look and see what shapes she took 

Her movements shift each moment’s grace 

Each nook and bend, her peace and pace 

The Eel-Eagle One

It is not told that in after days

When of olde YHWH God made the heaven

And it is not written that following the beginning

And its seven

When began the rest of which all creatures sang—

Drowning Potsherds

If I pot this precious potoroo

Drenched it is with tears

Will this cursed ground release it

In the Jubilee of Years?

One Sol

I missed my midday Summer skies

In the noon-grey of my long Julys

When days stopped short and dark dragged on

And I'd stay yet hide, though my leaves had died

Joe-Peep

Papa Joe-peep has missed his sheep

And doesn’t know where to mind them

Make a new home and stay not alone

Awaiting their turns beside them

River Time

No sorries. No worries

Just joeys. Just Chloe's

It’s okay. It’s today

Tomorrow’s past will never last

My Roses

My roses were dead

My heart was blue

Was barely a beat

When I met you

In The End

Stars Shine

Sun is Fine

Time is Light

God is Mine

The Marks of Abel

An eastern barred and banned coot

Which hide in grass by day

Standing out in standing hay

Was spotted prey for sport and loot

Tumble Man

I pray to be a stone

Smooth by wear and chance

Exposing mineral bone

That makes the colours dance

Browns Tide

I am a river widening

Flowing to the sea

No one sees me emptying

The opening in me

The Nutter

The gumnut is my tree

Not tall and reaching far

Nor waving all about

Like a blowing, creaking lout

Drift

At 44, I snore late.

I’m half eighty-eight.

I might be a door weight. 

I know how to bore, mate.

Awake

Amidst the dark and dead of night,

A thin red line ignites the sight.

It rises hot with hope and brings

Awakened day, and rising, sings.

Without doubt

 Dave without doubt

You are doubly stout

And tripley rare

With quadruplet care. 

Only Chloe

Oh, what’s the right gift for a Chloe?

It can’t be the same for a Joey?

It must be unique. It might need mystique.

It may even require something showy.

Mind the mess

 

Well, here we are in the mud

We tried to climb out with a thud

Estranged

It is written

If your brother is distressed 

Bout what you eat or drink

You’re not properly dressed

In the love you often think

Sudden passings

Beloved puppy beyond my reach

My beautiful companion 

I laughed so where now is my speech

How did I you abandon 

Toe-night

Nonight sweetheart, sleep tight tonight

Don’t forget to remember your tax could bite

Two be

We could be two

If you wanted to

New muddle

A kiss and a cuddle

For the first of the muddle

And a cat on your lap

So you can’t do it back

Mud

These footsteps that you left here

In my mud strewn mire

You trudged upon my year

To aid my coastline dire 

Honey

It's funny

Just seen her

It's sunny

To meet her

Crying

No use in crying

Watch her walk away

No point in pining

Watch them turn away

I could tell a tale

 

Words can tend to fail

I want to say so much

I could tell a tale

Of Wendy’s golden touch

Beneath my floor

 Look beneath my fault and floor.

Meet someone else behind my door.

Susan

For me you’ve been a tree

Standing tall and strong

Stretching out to reach 

Me in my stricken song

Jack-built

This is my house that Jack built

I'm not racked with guilt by the cracked tilt

My back is not wilted by the black silt

Though this is a house on a shack stilt