Ash is the hardest tree
And to return the cruellest track
Yet both are in the realm
Of those beautiful days
When the blue skies
And the gentle breeze
Take their turns to play
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
Ash is the hardest tree
And to return the cruellest track
Yet both are in the realm
Of those beautiful days
When the blue skies
And the gentle breeze
Take their turns to play
The questions that I ask
Which no one answers
With a yes or a no
Yet they espouse
The pathway to their house
Or their door
But green is the colour
That I seek
Not stop, nor wait, but go
I go there
I go there
I end there
I end there with you
I smile
I laugh
Also I cry
I end there with you
I had to be alone
Life was too too intrusive
But I like your picture
I always go there with you
A sink
With a mirror
Another mirror
For make up
One wall of wardrobes
One with a full length mirror
A bay window
To one side of the bed
A Mark Rothko print
On the opposite wall
Above the king-size double bed
A row of cupboards
All of this for certainty
Among the uncertainty
Outcast
I have cast myself out
And I am slowly forgetting
How to reopen the door
Bitterness
Helps me to be bitter
Humour
Helps me to smile
Happiness
Follows swiftly
As I sit, secure
In my meditation chair