Orator

I drive beside the blossom
I drive aside the daffodils
I spoke so well, last Friday
Or so I thought
Yet I'm not so sure
That my partner thought it so
She said that I had to be clearer
With pronunciation
She said it was difficult
To hear the essence
The feeling, the truth
Of what I thought

I said that somehow it was easier
To speak to an audience
Than simply to talk into a microphone
I said that I thought
That it improved my intonation
With faces to keep engaged
Yet I know that it's all pretty useless
And I know
That it's not going to go so very far
And I know
That most of it is just nonsense anyway

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Dreams, And Minutes

I got Cherry Cola
By a not unusual mistake
I listen to, soak into
Open Season for My Heart

I dreamt of you last night
Was it a fake dream
As we, half-intently, built
Our snow house in the park

The sky is blue
The road is clear
I'm on my way
Whatever else lies near

Minute by minute
I feel your spark
Minute by minute
I go further into that dark

Minute by minute
I lose your spark
Minute by minute
I move further from the park

This is the clarity of spring
This thing I bring
These songs I sing
They carry the clarity of spring

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Communicating

I was working at the time for a large, innovative, high technology firm, although I wasn't always sure that their inventions were all that new; they were something to do with energy and light.

We were on a works outing, to a large park, covered with snow; we were instructed to build snow houses. I was with you, ours was a major construction, more stone and ground rather than just snow.

At one point I was pushing an old wall down, and I had to ask you to move. We had dug a big hole, about twenty or more feet square; I wasn't sure what we were going to do for the roof.

At one point I pulled you towards me, but you pushed me away and said that no, we weren't on the same network, for she had bought a pay-as-you-go mobile phone.

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Ache, No Mistake

Just my words, pulled together, in the car
Just my way to feed into the ache
Just my way to stake a case
To rake up the past, with indelicate haste

Yet how many have been gifted such a life
How many have lifted themselves from the miasma
How many have been lifted by your lift
How many gifts so gifted by your smile

One more sip of Cherry Cola
One more line spoken into the microphone
One more sigh that says; yes, it is all over
One more time, for the missed call on the telephone

One right foot on the accelerator
One piece of mischief to tell her of later
I am my own, yes, I am my own propagator
I could tell you; that no, no I do not hate her

No way, for after all she was my first, new-self creator
And in between the doubt and the dust piles
Maybe the diamonds were the silent instigator
If I brush away the rust files, I might just ask to date her

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Gloss, And Glitter

If I had the time, which I haven't
I would start again
With a fountain pen
And the basic rules of grammar

I might pick up a stammer
To give me time to think
To think I could give up
The drink, but how could I

Would it matter
If on this second chance
I learnt to dance, and sing
Play guitar, that sort of thing

Such a beautiful idea
To see, and hear
Christopher read his poetry
Then go on to dance and sing

And maybe join in with conversation
On the platform at the station
Virtuoso like; stating his case
For a remedy, to his unsociable situation

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