Birthright

On the day after warmth came to spring
& daffodils flowered, beside new mown grass
The young boy came into our lives

On an evening when sunlight streams
Through leafless trees, I look more closely
To see the sticky buds beginning to open

That he too might enjoy the birdsong
Among the peacefulness, both now
& also in his later years

That his parents may soon walk out with him
In the countryside; also play endlessly together
On the soft sands, by sparkling seas

That love should come our way
Is itself the miracle of life

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R & R

Almost the final patrons
In the university museum cafe
Until two sisters enter

Glasses, worn for indignation
Which may soon be released
If the counter staff do not return

Why would I make it difficult
Keep it sweet, keep it short
Keep it within the limitations

I often make ill defined connections
From this obscurity to that, from
One nowhere circumstance, to another

As in the letters
Where the flow is lost;
One river stops

One river starts
Discontinuing their
Breaks in continuity

Where tired shoes tramp off
Without guidance; their footfalls
Fall where footfalls have always fallen

Stolen, from the lack of a campaign
Without cause enough to believe in
As if to say: Yes, I am treading water

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Royal

Tiredness takes me

To the coffee shop

Already I feel slightly lighter

As I remember the young man

With puffed up eyes; his lost gaze

Makes me feel way more fortunate

It wouldn’t do

To focus on negativity

The day to day of her life

Is way too beautiful

I have found a seat, in

The museums upstairs alcove

With a window, to a tree

Whose sticky buds welcome

The somewhat delayed turn

From winter to spring

It is more true

The locus of connectivity

The time to time of seasons

She is so sure of beauty

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Vigour

Brown and green and intense
Navy and neat and no pretence
Not so for those who quietly view

To yawn with absolute splendour
All intent of boredom
Theirs to eschew

With the strength
To defend attention
Contemplating
Most, or all of the truth

Sufficient to walk, crossflow
Across the floorboards
We, who wait to see why
It is she who takes the next step

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Intake of Breath

Tiredness, dullness
Again excess takes its toll

Always an irritation
Calls for the scrape of movement

Always the failure
Of concentration provides my escape

I am a fake
Of contemplation

Which itself
Is beyond my state of comprehension

I am out of tune
In mind and body, I am flaked

Rest for rests sake
May be the only stake-able cure

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