You were my coldness
The reason for my old memories
You took me to the sea Blue
You took me to the sky Blue
Is that you swimming now
Wondering how
Skimming stones across the pond
Is it gone, are we saying so long
Cannot the coldness carry on
Are we afraid of loneliness
Might we not grow older together
Available on Kindle
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
Saturday, 27 February 2016
Friday, 26 February 2016
Sunlight & Stream
I don't know where
I don't know why
Such big questions
Such vacant spaces
I was calm
I was quiet
Simply walking
In the wide-open places
I am here to write
I am here to reflect
But I eat cake
And I drink coffee
Yes there was somewhere
Yes there was a past
Yet I don't know where
And I don't honestly know why
Available on Kindle
I don't know why
Such big questions
Such vacant spaces
I was calm
I was quiet
Simply walking
In the wide-open places
I am here to write
I am here to reflect
But I eat cake
And I drink coffee
Yes there was somewhere
Yes there was a past
Yet I don't know where
And I don't honestly know why
Available on Kindle
Thursday, 25 February 2016
Analysis
There is a difference
A succinct yet certain distance
Between that thought
Which you seek out to engage
And that other thought, which
Arrives entirely unannounced
A thought, which you have no
Choice, but to listen to
No amount of seeking
Will find this second instance
For it is not of your own making
It is formed by a hundred, or a
Thousand collisions, which all
Must collide at one and the same time
And from such preponderance
The magic dust will somehow be lifted
Lifted from the dust behind the doors
Lifted from the dust beneath the floors
The dust is lifted, before being sifted
Then gifted back to you, as
If it was the very thing you feared
Available on Kindle
A succinct yet certain distance
Between that thought
Which you seek out to engage
And that other thought, which
Arrives entirely unannounced
A thought, which you have no
Choice, but to listen to
No amount of seeking
Will find this second instance
For it is not of your own making
It is formed by a hundred, or a
Thousand collisions, which all
Must collide at one and the same time
And from such preponderance
The magic dust will somehow be lifted
Lifted from the dust behind the doors
Lifted from the dust beneath the floors
The dust is lifted, before being sifted
Then gifted back to you, as
If it was the very thing you feared
Available on Kindle
Wednesday, 24 February 2016
Flower
Return home
To airborne scents of roses
Stand in that open space
Stand in that open warmth
Of the summer
Wonder, what is that perfume
On the English breeze
What is that peace
Of the blossom leaves waving
Available on Kindle
To airborne scents of roses
Stand in that open space
Stand in that open warmth
Of the summer
Wonder, what is that perfume
On the English breeze
What is that peace
Of the blossom leaves waving
Available on Kindle
Tuesday, 23 February 2016
Psychology of Space
Am I still on retreat
I feel to have retreated
A good way already
Is it myself I have to meet
The I thus to be greeted
Greet one safe and steady
One more course of memories
One more Sunday of Sunday's
Soft thoughts of soft defeat
As I watch the Grand Prix racing
No need now for searching deep
Put simply; my life is even pacing
What is left is left to keep
Hold on without exasperation
With no hope for participation
The station now is the station when
That new platform can be constructed
That journey from here to cosmopolitan
From village and countryside to city centres
From home, to homage to mystery and myth
Occasionally with the partitioned silence
Occasionally with the extended peace
Some way to reflect the sounds of settlements
Or to find the passageways that go vice-versa
Available on Kindle
I feel to have retreated
A good way already
Is it myself I have to meet
The I thus to be greeted
Greet one safe and steady
One more course of memories
One more Sunday of Sunday's
Soft thoughts of soft defeat
As I watch the Grand Prix racing
No need now for searching deep
Put simply; my life is even pacing
What is left is left to keep
Hold on without exasperation
With no hope for participation
The station now is the station when
That new platform can be constructed
That journey from here to cosmopolitan
From village and countryside to city centres
From home, to homage to mystery and myth
Occasionally with the partitioned silence
Occasionally with the extended peace
Some way to reflect the sounds of settlements
Or to find the passageways that go vice-versa
Available on Kindle
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