GABHAIL IV

The constant rolling dice that never fall
stack up the chips of our existence

and some days we’re so lucky
- the search seeming easy with reward
and blessings in abundance -
we forget the golden rule

that everything’s decided
in between the heartbeat of the moment.

That reality’s one long gamble
with final odds fixed
by divine order of old gods

and seizing for knowledge
we can never fully grasp
yields an understanding
like those clocks ticking
in the heavens
yield an understanding
of when the time is right
to wake us
for a brief spell
by their measured call
before dissolving
as if by magic
in the blinking of an eye
the constant rolling dice that never fall

DA WORD

Dawn's an advert for sunrise, copy of will,
mind pour, tame of process and nature; her show
will drain liquid man for disposable
cups of recyclable heat, kept in tube warm rows
stacked vertical, which move in tilt noble
curves to deport through his person her weight.

Champion belt thinkers perceive and taste
her needle, found by chance in vast haystacks
of binary optical data bits,
when light touch's swoosh in trickling dance
make fingertips jive and dig her location.

Dawn fans morph in a mass of electron
and sub particle continuum switch
code, toll in life's quantum the condomic
bell, sounding her one name - humanity;
ooohing, aarghing and praying to art.

Reality becomes her servant, proves
she lies true; that fiction is existence
and our dreams but the kind her dazzle mutes,
shatters, exploding to soul shards which slip
below the love for god's absolute cold
constant zero of absence we sense,
tense, bend and be when she's shaping us.

O
ineffable beauty, identity's
docket; please go, but return with her bold
outline to delineate what form she
will appear in as me. Recognised by
you, will I arrive pressed with all the right
ink in the rubber stamp light of her sheen?

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Hi this is poems