Words which enter of their own volition
They are the best words
Just as the glimpse
From the corner of one's eye
Says all that needs to be said about her beauty
Just as the gathering in
Of the one unique scent note
Says all that you need to know about her style
Tuesday, 6 February 2018
Monday, 5 February 2018
BBB Poem 86
I have been unable
To cure myself
Of this long held obsession
I have tried, believe me
Yet every time I throw
Another stone into the water
I smile to myself, politely
I watch the ripples
Dappled and stippled with light
In the deep of night
Her memory is falling
From the moon and stars
As I lay in my bed
I spin the words to thread
The lost love which is calling
Without pad or pen or pencil
I repeat the words
Hoping that my sleep
Will not take them away
But of course it does
So frail is my obsessed mind
To cure myself
Of this long held obsession
I have tried, believe me
Yet every time I throw
Another stone into the water
I smile to myself, politely
I watch the ripples
Dappled and stippled with light
In the deep of night
Her memory is falling
From the moon and stars
As I lay in my bed
I spin the words to thread
The lost love which is calling
Without pad or pen or pencil
I repeat the words
Hoping that my sleep
Will not take them away
But of course it does
So frail is my obsessed mind
Sunday, 4 February 2018
BBB Poem 85
I reach out to nowhere
Not knowing what to touch
I collect scraps and tit-bits
Yet squander so much
I wave a hand at the dark
Not knowing the friend
I undo words, letters also
I undo, to hold back at the end
I am no different
To millions, zillions of men
All who suffered heartbreak
And now gravitate to zen
Not knowing what to touch
I collect scraps and tit-bits
Yet squander so much
I wave a hand at the dark
Not knowing the friend
I undo words, letters also
I undo, to hold back at the end
I am no different
To millions, zillions of men
All who suffered heartbreak
And now gravitate to zen
Saturday, 3 February 2018
BBB Poem 84
I take myself off
To places I’ve never been
I read of our song
So what does it mean
At six in the morning
Already three times awake
Pretty pictures rolling
I think of River Erme intake
From where water was drawn
But at what cost
Where the puppet was played
While the true love was lost
To places I’ve never been
I read of our song
So what does it mean
At six in the morning
Already three times awake
Pretty pictures rolling
I think of River Erme intake
From where water was drawn
But at what cost
Where the puppet was played
While the true love was lost
Friday, 2 February 2018
BBB Poem 83
It’s five-thirty-seven
And the shoulder is sore
I view pictures of brethren
And read words for the shore
Those sands which I walked on
As the sun was to rise
Those steady foot settlements
To feel love, love in those eyes
The door is open
The curtains are drawn
Autumn is the season
And the leaves are shorn
I didn’t mean to reason
I didn’t mean to fawn
I just made mistakes
On the day of the dawn
Like a wheel that turns
With direction unknown
Begging for forgiveness
As you carry the thorn
Nipping, and nattering
And callously borne
Shifting, and shattering
The truth in her eyes
Hoping, yer clattering
So close to despise
Helplessly flattered
By your half-way disguise
And the shoulder is sore
I view pictures of brethren
And read words for the shore
Those sands which I walked on
As the sun was to rise
Those steady foot settlements
To feel love, love in those eyes
The door is open
The curtains are drawn
Autumn is the season
And the leaves are shorn
I didn’t mean to reason
I didn’t mean to fawn
I just made mistakes
On the day of the dawn
Like a wheel that turns
With direction unknown
Begging for forgiveness
As you carry the thorn
Nipping, and nattering
And callously borne
Shifting, and shattering
The truth in her eyes
Hoping, yer clattering
So close to despise
Helplessly flattered
By your half-way disguise
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