Most days I would try to write a poem; it is a practice, as I suppose is meditation, or smiling, or watching the world go by
Friday, 25 January 2013
Room 309
I have bathed
I listened to the sweet violin
I have read a little of Fernando Pessoa
If I was to call it sadness
Would I have to waiver more clear
If I was to call it peace
Would you crave at the veneer
That I can say it is tiredness
Is that a dearer message to wire
For do we not all feel tired
With much of life still to acquire
from the collection
The Curved Ball of an Artists Model
Love Encouraged By the Breakout
Available from itunes by clicking here
Thursday, 24 January 2013
Given Words
I cannot read
More than one page at a time
The concentration is not with me
Instead I look east, or west
To blue grey skies
To pink and golden sunsets
Further south, small fluffy clouds
Wisps of joy for my feeble mind
Through the flat fields of East England
Farmlands; diggers dig new ditches
Beyond the grain store a smokestack
Beyond the straw bales a chapel
Our shadows speed over the stubble
Dusks gentle conversation is calming
The sun on the last day she gave me
Hope that there will always be hope
Wednesday, 23 January 2013
Bile
Sickness that follows death
Doubts in place of certainties
Sourness in the once sweet soul
Words spit out; no more so softly spoken
But tomorrow we’ll be singing
Yes tomorrow we’ll all be singing
Tuesday, 22 January 2013
Why? Is it because
All that stuff
About falling in love
& breaking up
Lah de lah de lah
All those times of waking up
Beneath the crescent moon
Some sunny day in June
Lah de lah de lah
Why? Is it because
All the rough
Of making up
From broken love
Lah de lah de lah
Thank the Lord above
For clear blue skies
& raking up the past
Lah de lah de lah
Monday, 21 January 2013
Fireplay
Each turn turns a smile
Playful with precision
Reasonable indecision
Beside harbored doubt
Every hour, every day
Flowers and unfortunate
Scours were praised in our
Songs heartfelt to empower
Each hope turns on hope
Decayed by days of derision
Unreasonable prohibition
Sold our sensations short
Every sour word spoken
Some token of loss, lost flames
The old fires of burning desire
Retired out of the embers
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