Allan James Saywell

If I could fly like a bird
I would soar like an angel
Through the valley of death
Through the tunnel of the great white light
...

The path was narrow and cobbled in sandstone
Birds warbled and squabbled and pecked sweet honey
From brilliant flowers, that flowered a tree
Just like a still life that sit on an easel
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A child of the world
Will always gaze
With wonder
At a picture book
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Even though you write your poetry
While the stars burn
With a deep fire
You think my love is a vile phrase
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Many, many years ago
He was cast out on his own
Freedom come, freedom go
Nowhere to lay his head
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Do you love me Henry
Well when I wake
Of a morning Martha
At first light
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In a perfect marriage
Within a bad relationship
A free spirit
Can become a trapped animal
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How many times can a sunrise
Or can a sunset
How many faces can a man see
Or places he know
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The poet took a drag of his funny weed
He sucked it into his lungs
It went to what was left of his brain
His face lit up like a xmas tree and
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you are born naked
they cover you with cloth
for the rest of your life
when you die
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He slept in a vapour dream
Of floating intoxication
He was slowly dreaming
In a vat of brandy
...

Is the Pope Infalable Henry?
Well Martha- -one Pope will die
Another Pope will be resurrected
In his place
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She could have been the perfect Woman
If only for her insensibility
Which caused a certain amount
Of cold blooded behaviour
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She was sitting on concrete
No shoes, bare feet
Smoking a bumper Having a conversation
With, God knows who
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I wrote the word dog
O n a piece of paper
Then I wrote it back to front
That is how I met God
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Putin is on the phone AJS
Hello sir, what can I do for you
A deal, what sort of deal
You want to house our boat people
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Death is beautiful
Life is just a game
Full of surprise
Life is just a lie
...

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There lay a man
Dressed in rags
When the moonlight lit his face
His face became me
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Words forever blown along by a gentle wind
Given the kiss of life
By both happy and sad poets
Words embraced by both the young
...