In the library I was in the park
In the park I was on the beach
On the beach I was in the bookshop
In the bookshop I was having dinner
Having dinner I was making love
Making love I was settling the bill
Settling the bill I was thinking of yesterday
Yesterday I was thinking of tomorrow
Tomorrow I will be fighting
Fighting the fires once more
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
Tuesday, 24 October 2017
Monday, 23 October 2017
56
I have a desire to go
Someplace to be
Maybe to bathe in nostalgia
Or glow for the first time
In the immediacy of flirtation
I have many places in mind
But what of those
Of which I don't yet know
How should the search begin
What sparkle should my eye wear
Someplace to be
Maybe to bathe in nostalgia
Or glow for the first time
In the immediacy of flirtation
I have many places in mind
But what of those
Of which I don't yet know
How should the search begin
What sparkle should my eye wear
Sunday, 22 October 2017
55
What I have
Is what I never had
What I now hold close
Is that where I didn't
Ever reach a closeness
Closer then than ever
Even without the knowing
Thus to hold tight onto
All that you gave, all
That I could not take away
Is what I never had
What I now hold close
Is that where I didn't
Ever reach a closeness
Closer then than ever
Even without the knowing
Thus to hold tight onto
All that you gave, all
That I could not take away
Saturday, 21 October 2017
54
I once held the key
Carried it wherever I travelled
Loose, in denim jeans pocket
Close to the desires
Which desired to be unlocked
Earlier I had knocked, on
A few doors, so many doors
Pouring out stories, and gifting
Gifts with the ease, to tease
That which becomes sacrament
Carried it wherever I travelled
Loose, in denim jeans pocket
Close to the desires
Which desired to be unlocked
Earlier I had knocked, on
A few doors, so many doors
Pouring out stories, and gifting
Gifts with the ease, to tease
That which becomes sacrament
Friday, 20 October 2017
53
Neither in the making
Or the breaking apart
No point in raising stakes
For already it is a broken heart
Straight lines and primary colours
As if by Mondrian from the very start
No more might Piet be her brother
Beside the surging River Dart
Impeccable if not indeed precise
Serving Martini, Vermouth chilled with ice
Nothing if not respectable; a career
That careered without a single vice
Or the breaking apart
No point in raising stakes
For already it is a broken heart
Straight lines and primary colours
As if by Mondrian from the very start
No more might Piet be her brother
Beside the surging River Dart
Impeccable if not indeed precise
Serving Martini, Vermouth chilled with ice
Nothing if not respectable; a career
That careered without a single vice
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