a note*

Everything I post here I have previously published on the many other blogs I have had. This is a place for my favourites to rest. These are the wings that taught me i could fly and that there is life waiting, far beyond the ridge.

If you care to comment, just drop me an email at grayhawk77@yahoo.com


Thursday, August 23, 2012


well, he did it again
the sneaky ol bastard

i blew my top
in the roarin forties
sliced her north on a jib
skittered the shoals
slid her into second base
no, out
whaddya mean out?
he never touched me!
but down she went
taking my argument
with her

and once again
here, on a battered rock
at the bottom of nowhere
i smelled him
afor i seen her

oh, pissed was I
and I rattled the heavens
with my curses,

kicked sand
at the witches wind
and stumped my ass
in what the fuck now

and then, soft and low
how the pipes
stirred the misty wash
upon this crusty jewel
of heartless scars

i clenched my ears
in hydraulic denial
but ears with him
ain't really the problem

i turned my narrow eyes
to his furtive control
all crookedy teeth
skid marks and
peach-rotten balls
and wept

as i had done
in Tanzania
off Scotland's cliffs
in the vineyards of Italy
and the snow pack
of the Yukon

He'd found me once more
or perhaps
never left me
but oh!
how his pipes do play