27

One hundred Monday mornings
One hundred photographs along the way
Glimpses of the mood
Captured in that wellspring of emotion
Notes made on the road
More of the Christopher, and less of the Kerouac

Available from Amazon

26

There is a church
With a small spire
It shows a precision
Which its diminutive
Clock face signs off

Available from Amazon

25

I have been heavy handed, but
Not in a heavy-handed sort of way
More of having the will to impose my will
On those I thought in need of guidance

Some might say that I was stubborn, yes
In that stubborn-as-hell kind of way
But more I feel as a demonstration
Of my own damned and wretched inflexibility

Available from Amazon

24

In this air, which we call our clear air
There floats at least a million dust mites
Yet only for those few moments, with the earth set on its axis
Does the light sparkle through tree and window
There to show off the fine particles, both levitating and travelling
No worry for the coldness, it seems they are knowing full well
That when the brightness disappears then they too will disappear

Available from Amazon

23

What is it that troubles me

No I know I haven't told you

And though I take the time to hold you

We haven't yet managed to second guess

To prevent distress I don't ask that you unfold me

No I know you are happy that I hold you

And rather pleased that no, I do not scold you

Yet perhaps it is time to probe, not just to impress

Don't let them fuck you about, it is not compassionate

To be brutal, it is not clever to tear that frail paper

When what it needs is a firm frame to wrap around

It is a tree which speaks well to me of frailty and indecision

With the precision of bonsai the branches point neither

In the way of the road less travelled, or any other road

It is a different tree, more wilful and wild of nature

With the precociousness of a night-after hairdo

Which says more about a night on then town than a night on the tiles

They are the real deal (and I know some people their equal)

I am the faithless pretender (and you know some people my equal)

If you don't want to be alone with me should I be on my own

If you don't want to share thatch and stone with me should I moan

Or just get on and do something about it; my purpose thus to roam

I find people, I lose people, I hope one day that it may slow down

Available from Amazon