I Chose The Bubble

From within we see the stars, the sparkle
From without we see the sparkle, the stars
For the sparkle, and the stars
You might read fairgrounds and music
You might hear the symphonies
As the notes, one by one, slip
Out of your gossamer sheath

From without we are tears, and heartbreak
From within we are heartbreak, and tears
For the tears, and the heartbreak
You might read strangers & lovers
You might hear the sighs
As the embraces, one by one, slip
Back in to your gossamer sheath

This is a poem from Vagaries:

Love of The Key to Room 149

Available as ebook from Kindle
or as a homemade print book and audio cd from  poetryshop

Out There

I know this is the mist of the East

I know that I kissed her in my sleep

I know that to resist

Is to take myself, I insist, elsewhere deep

I know this is the light of the day

I know, with hindsight, I had to stay

I know always to be right

Is to stay on the inflexible way

I know this is the rain of the West

I know my pain is born in her breast

I know to rake for endless gain

Is to forsake the truth that more is less

I know this is the dark of night

I know the lark sings silver white

I know to walk through beauties park

Is love being caught, in her line of sight

This is a poem from Vagaries:

Love of The Key to Room 149

Available as ebook from Kindle
or as a homemade print book and audio cd from  poetryshop

Protective of You

Only once ever before did I touch the outside of a bubble, a surface that glistened profusely, but one that I assumed was entirely fragile

& yet, today, you guessed it

I am lighter now, than the me that I have known almost forever, so light that my density is less than that of the bubble

& so, today, you guessed it

With the lightness there is a clarity; a clarity so pure that the rainbows of the bubble diffuse entirely

& where, today, you guessed it

The lightness, the clarity and the fragility take me to the essence of love; it is of love in this bubble; love here & now

& today, you guessed it

At once you joined me

This is a poem from Vagaries:

Love of The Key to Room 149

Available as ebook from Kindle
or as a homemade print book and audio cd from  poetryshop

Fete

Leaning gravestones

Strong sun, cream teas

Babies crying, dogs barking

Demonstrations of twisting wool

& the reupholstery of antique chairs

No rush to their conversations

No doubts in their belief of faith

You enquired about the moneymaker

The boy gazed out into the further distance

His eyes entirely free of unqualified expectations

This is a poem from Vagaries:

Love of The Key to Room 149

Available as ebook from Kindle
or as a homemade print book and audio cd from  poetryshop

Dying to Travel

The hearse followed me north, past the Nottingham & Grantham turnoff; they overtook me on Gonerby Moor (He was escorted by a flashy Peugeot Convertible with a private number plate).Earlier in the journey, after listening to Paul Heaton’s Acid Country I had said to myself that I would like that song played at my funeral, though I worried that the crematorium would clip it, cut it short, and you need to hear the whole thing to really get the sentiment. 

I thought that I had lost them by the M18, but then, just thirty miles shy of Leeds I spotted the casket, with its impressively close suitor still heading north. The sunshine boy of Billericay returning to the clouds of Durham City

This is a poem from Vagaries:

Love of The Key to Room 149

Available as ebook from Kindle
or as a homemade print book and audio cd from  poetryshop