Lost Again

One might call it graceful
Except for its sound balloon
Some way behind
Some way to the side

Should one write
Of still finding the sound
Should one write
Or take photographs

This place is nineteen minutes
From my home
As long as I too am prepared
To add to the urban traffic noise

Once again I have lost the tip
Off my favourite pencil
This time though I fear
However lateral my exploration

Or thinking, the top is gone
My peace is shockingly shattered
By a scruffy little dog
The owners words not mine

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Direction Not Yet Decided

One side is at peace
One side is a riot
Straight ahead
Lies the pathway to the sea

Down below is sodden earth
Up above is aircraft sky
Straight ahead
I’ve heard the curlew fly

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I Will Not

I woke, with I will not
On the tip of my tongue
Now all that is required
Are the applications:

I will not give up
I will not go on
I will not be silent
I will not be strong

I will not be tearful
I will not be wise
I will not live in fear
I will not wear disguise

I will not be unhappy
I will not simply go along
I will not be timid
I will not, not belong

I will not take care
I will not share the ride
I will not pay the fare
I will not ask for you at my side

I will not wait for tomorrow
I will not lose today
I will not bathe in sorrow
I will not forget how to play

I will not mistreat the parish
I will not lift up the gun
I will not be way too lavish
I will not set out to run

I will not carve without purpose
I will not waste away the time
I will not profit from the purchase
I will not commit the merest crime

I will not be an agnostic
I will not be an arbiter of faith
I will not doubt my belief system
I will not become as stray, or waif

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Shades Of

The shadows sink more slowly
Than ever they did before
The dawn, it no longer gloriously rises
Rather it stumbles across the new morning

The figures, which once danced on the wall
Now stand statuesque, still as stone
The lampshade, which once cast its own likeness
Is now entirely within itself, muted

The long road to the river is monotone
As is the pony’s meadow, and the wilder moor
The dance floor, which once throbbed with urgency
Is well beyond the last waltz, emptied of all lust

The letters, once a before the morning ritual
Are no more, nor have they been for a long time
The smile, the bodily gesticulations; energetic, vibrant
Are now hidden from view, a clear avoidance of life

The dangers, once embraced without fears
Are now placed centre stage, to become restrictive
All ideas of ideas, of thoughts, and of movements
Are closed off, to dismiss the opportunities for change

The dilemma, for to be sure it is a real dilemma
Is how fine a line is the line, between love and hate
How discursive those once so so cohesive forces
How indignant now, of the need to silence the howl

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Intensify

You have gifted me
A deeper depth of darkness
You have made our distance
Ever more distant

As though the void itself
Was insufficient
You have drawn up
The drawbridge

Yet my reflex response
Will be a deeper depth of feeling
Yes, my instinctive reaction
Will be to overcome the difference

Indeed, as though
To enter that void
With my core drill, and sickle
To harvest the new despair

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