Walking walking my feet do pound
Upon the wet and soggy ground
Walking walking on and on
Always heading toward the dawn

Walking walking walking still
I tire of dragging my weary will
Yet walking walking on I walk
I fear I’ll go till my feet fall off

Walking walking along the beach
The coarse sand a painful belief
Walking walking on bleeding feet
Dragging on with no relief

Walking walking until the end
Seeking relief from this land
Walking walking on tips of toes
Until I shall fall and bang my nose

Walking walking with no relief
Still on the toes of my feet
Walking walking for an age
Trailing refuse in my wake

Walking walking except I’m done
I’ve finally reached the rising sun
Walking walking no more again
Cleansed at last my weary end

The mind of an artist is an insane thing

Inciting you to draw that one last line
Or write a sonnet about knitting twine
Forcing you to burn the Midnight Oil
You beg it to rest but still you toil

When the day’s light is in the sky
Your muses sleep and so you sigh
But when you would put your mind to rest
It’s wide awake and demanding your best

Why oh why must the mind be so
Jumping about like a jackrabbit oh
At all the wrong hours it would have you work
Yet when you want it there’s not a quirk

So woe betide the poem’s written
Will I get to rest or still be smitten
By my muses active so
Dancing around when the sun hides low

And so fate weaves the destinies
Of you and of me
A spinning cycle of woven twine
Eternally spun
Rarely benign

Once woven cannot be undone
Pain and pleasure entwined as one
Reaching forever for the past
Grasping shadows
Never at rest

Crying laughing anger still
The spindle weaves as it will
For fate weaves the destinies
Of you and of me
And the river only flows one way

Sing a song for the dying man
Sing a song for me
Sing a song into the wind
That wrenching melody

Sing as you’ve never sung before
Sing as if you’ll break
Sing like no one’s listening
And scream out your heartbreak

Sing a song sung by many
Sing a song sung by few
Sing a song you’ve made yourself
Pretend that you’re brand new

Sing a little Irish jig
Sing out to the sky
Sing like the pretty bird
And then begin to cry

Sing a song for the widow’s son
Sing a song for yourself
Sing a song of war and pain
As they put you in the ground