Your resting face

No sculptor could

embellish

Is the one I read

each morning,

as you sleep.

While I, the horsehead

In your bed

Wait till you awake.

Now It is finally day

And life is no longer

to be lived In the

shadow cast

by a maze.

© Bernard Pearson

Your resting face

No sculptor could

embellish

Is the one I read

each morning,

as you sleep.

While I, the horsehead

In your bed

Wait till you awake.

Now It is finally day

And life is no longer

to be lived In the

shadow cast

by a maze.

© Bernard Pearson

A child’s life

Taken but because

it has no currency

for these particular murderers

the decision for them is merely

whether to stick or twistt

however the innocent

live in the dreams

Of those who loved them

When the only safe space

Is the dead zone

My mind is the big bad bang

free style, unwired, buzzing

Like a strip light in an empty property

Or children at the end of a wedding

It’s the price of being mad and old

And searching for another toreador

To toss bouquet like into the air

Or another mind shrinking drug

Like the scent of lillies above marble.

© Bernard Pearson

Mankind has taken hold

of the dark end of the wand

for now, so when it

waves this baton of power

it curses itself anew

Eases into greed

The murderer of the soul

Acquiesces to the

Hating heart and the

blood stained fist

But wait and be patient h

For light is coming

And the morning waits

Watching like a mother

Her sleeping child.

©Bernard Pearson

If it’s the New Year

You are looking for,

you won’t find it all

Muffled up in memories.

Walk out your front door,

Greet your new friend,

Take their arm, tell them

Your hopes and fears

by all means,

It know nothing of these,

But is a good listener.

Then, stroll on together.

© Bernard Pearson

The mute spoke

Because you gave

tongue to them

So they could sing again,

And some would swim again,

From the dead pool where

They had been kept

With each lancing, glancing,

Dancing word, the world

was unlaced and freed.

Iron bars became willow wands

Held across hot coals

As we fire walked home with you.

©Bernard Pearson

(And their was a Wilderness crying out in a voice)

So Finally Freed from our cage

To where wounds are jewels not scars

Once an unfettered cadenza of rage

Now Go Sing ribald songs to the stars.

© Bernard Pearson

The smell of Death like Skunk

Hangs in the air when you get old

It lingers in your clothes even

when you re not the one who’s

Drugged or cold

Both are not spoken of in polite society

Their scent sticks in your throat

Though both brings on an

a different kind of high

When the world slips away easy

And you no longer think of life

And wonder why?

© Bernard Pearson

Waiting, Waiting, Waiting

And all the time the lights fade,

Standing, sitting, running, Kneeling

Not understanding , why just feeling.

Evil seems so very close,

I feel its breathe upon my cheek,

It mutters slogans whispers slowly

Of all it hates about the weak

And then the weak are

All around me linking arms

they now surround me

Love you see once it’s invited

Calms the soul of those benighted

So as we wait for the world

To come at last to its senses,

Circle round all those you can

Protecting them not from some ‘ devil’

But from the deeds of their fellow man.

© Bernard Pearson