Town Boy

I sit inside the Christian fellowship coffee shop amongst a melodramatic search for reason; day dreams of retreat, into sublime silent solitude, sparrow-crumbs of memories in flight across my mind

Actually I pay my fare and sit astride the Easy Rider metro double-decker bus; visualising moorland heathers of golden crimson that one day we might have walked upon together


This one didn't make it into the collection Watercombe - Love in Open Moorland, to find out what did click here

Simultaneously stomping, stamping, smashing down the stairs

Simultaneously stomping, stamping, smashing down the stairs

Entrance, what an entrance, crashing, lashing, loads of noise

Argument, discord, simultaneous stacking, lacking thought

Pulling, sullen, mulling …togetherness ensues, chocolate drops consumed

This one didn't make it into the collection Watercombe - Love in Open Moorland, to find out what did click here

Now a little story

Now a little story
Of the girl in the balloon
Who touched life, not a moment too soon

Light cried the captain
We need somebody light

I’m light whispered the little girl

Bright cried the captain
We need somebody bright

I’m bright whispered the little girl

Fight cried the captain
We need somebody who will fight

I’ll fight whispered the little girl

Might cried the captain might turn rough
We’ll need somebody tough

Might be a lady whispered the little girl
But I’m bright and I’m light and if it turns rough then I’ll get tough!

Hop aboard whispered the captain
Overwhelmed by her presence

This poem for Sarah didn't make it into: Watercombe - Love in Open Moorland but to see what did click here

Scissors of Love

Underneath the moon
Hold cold hands

Hold hands - tight
Walk barefoot in the sand

Wear tee shirts
Open minds

Walk to the wave’s edge
Talk to tomorrow

Walk, hold bold hands
Warm deep inside

Talk through the moment
On in to the next one

Wear just our imagination
Wishes that we wish

This one didn't make it into the collection Watercombe - Love in Open Moorland, to find out what did click here

About Eight

Stalled

Seven tall

Into the set of sun

Stopped

Then dropped

This war my course has run

No one knows 

These words I shout

No one understands

Always doubt

My words about

And no one gives a damn

So let me set it straight

Nothing clever, wait

Let me hesitate

Simply a celebration

Rows of poppies

In a wild garden

About eight; in the evening

A setting sun

In these first few days of summer

A photograph

You smile, we laugh

The light catches all the crinkles

We’ve sprinkled magic dust

On our generations rust

In time to mingle, to be singularly free

This poem was left on the cutting room floor when Embroidered Cadillac - Love in Tennyson County was edited, for the final cut got to smashwords by clicking her