Somewhere by Adam Parry

There is a place known only to a few,
not because they covet it for themselves
but because they want to keep it from being lost and stolen and destroyed
they have always nurtured this place
as best they could
and helped the folk there, even through  much danger
and it was not easy.
As many forgot as they toiled that there was nowhere more beautiful,
yet many of the bad folk
whom those folk who had struggled to keep the place fine,
and for every one of the bad there's hundred good,
that will be revealed to all.
And some say that some say soon this secret, lovely place
stretch through the wedge of night
partway between by the sun and the moon.
This land
this Earth
that we call home.

Now by Adam Parry

It spins, spirals under,
rolling over, mixing in the light-
the mile wide molecules
and the unutterable absences.
Places of wonder hove into view
while volcanoes within us remake everything anew.
It
is all colours, new spectrums,
an orgasm of spring, gently going by,
a coil in the clock of time. Our place to survive
in the cold, cold space,
these nuclear summer days
a hope in the moment
as it turns circles and mimes.

Let the white roses grow by Adam Parry

The day is done, some just begun.
The sun strayed awhile, strayed into the garden.

The cat grass rises higher, daffodils lie dormant
for another spring in the day.
The stones I washed, the stones I carried as I
wagered on a turn of the day, finding a new door into now.

The cat grass grows exponentially
while the rosebush waits
for a button hole moment.

In another now, not now not then,
dreams' tears I do not recall
rises the cat grass higher, high as a hedge,
I consider cutting it, but
I will let the white roses bloom.

Pretend your a tree by Adam parry

Pretend your a tree
and come with me.
I'll take you to
where
the clouds are born, before they melt
into the sea
where all the dolphins probably pee.
We'll climb a ladder to sky
and wonder how we
got there.

Conversation with the wind by Adam Parry

The wind's my friend
some say  she pushes you up the hills
and away from places you really don't want to go.

But turn from this wind, is what I say, turn this storm into
electric lights, turn against the war like wind, hush her
spirit with the flick of switch.

The wind though sings of a thousand worlds, whose voice will never be tamed
or mimed or maimed.
And on the wind came thrown down by crows
that mankind was gone away, never believe anything
or maybe that was a rumour, some gossip.
Never mind.
It's okay, mannie, its only the wind.