Friday, 24 May 2013

Polite advice to hunters. Of homes and sundry other things besides.

The stars the graffiti of the gods
like shaky letters on walls and roads,
the moon puffs out a gibbous cheek
bitten off more than can be swallowed.  
The path is narrow, the path is broad
widespread the world and space hallowed;
peg the tent by a daisy face
but keep your own in alert mode.
Give your mind away to awed
but keep an eye out for the fraud
set no store by cactus smiles
and sunflower hearts without a code.
The slap of field's green, roughshod
feet trample at whim, crush rows sowed.
Keep pegs light and hammer not deep
and up they come at slightest prod.
The tent is all and the tent is flawed.
The walls are frayed, cup what’s hollowed
thin air, thick air, hot air, cool -
it’s nothingness that forms abodes.


  1. at last its the nothingness which houses us all.Spectacular verse !

  2. Your title was like a beacon that guided me through the jungle of symbolisms.

    1. Thank you, for reading and for that lyrical comment.