The Buzzard
 
 
He did not ask for much
Life was his fix
Rising with the Son
Setting with the owl
Drawing life’s intoxicating liquor
behind his rib cage
Driving out breath into 
Nights frosty spears 
 
Feeling the touch of light
Letting the mind roam free
Over mountains into valleys
Lush and sweet smelling trees
Flung bracken where grouse
Shuffle and peck for free
Looking down to an orchard
Apples of humanity
 
Pears of truth and wisdom 
like pearls of new born snow
Ever creeping upwards 
Down and down they flow
Deep the silence of snowdrops
Yellow ochre dusts nose
Violet shadow on birch trees
Millions and millions grow
 
Balm of a green summer meadow
Light of a million stars
Heavy eye lids hooded
taloned eagles stare
Speed emerges through mist
Life gone whence it came
Replenished with God’s golden acre
Replete at the dying sun
 

I am carbon

I am Mardi gras beads

I am nothing

But the wind, the breeze

I am heaven

I am hell

I am everything

But no one can tell

I am a rock

I am a seed

I am root stock

But blood I bleed

I am a dervish

I am mountain stream

I am fresh hashish

But yet I dream

I am mountain

I am valley deep

I am flat terrain

But my sides are steep

I am old now

I am new

I am life’s flow

That death courses through