The joys of stacking stack on stack,
Filling piles with scrambled thought,
The generous pen upon the page,
Lies flat upon the ceding pale,
The ink encumbered with a heavy toll,
Becomes a faithful squire,
Carries on my swift reply,
Away to estranged questioners,
Displaced through the time by this same means I lean upon.

Politics made a dance upon a stage,
Become debate then farce then prattled on with age,
Oh please just talk along a line!
Not skew or stiff or boundary but beside,
Clear judgment - close its bedside table,
Make friendly with integrity what's stable,
You lead this place at least in part,
May He guide you though you do depart,
From gentle ways and humble paths,
I trust He'll be to you a staff
behind the scenes or by his grace in open air.

The sky's bleeding rose gold,
It trickles through the leaves -
Pooling in the darkness,
And overwhelming the horizon with its heft,
It tugs the colour from the sky,
Leaving a fracture of white that fades into cotton candy blue,
It melds into my mind,
And I see it in my thoughts dripping like syrup off the edge of the world,
Down into a devoid dreamland.