22

We are doing all of those things that we didn't have time to do

We are fulfilling all of those promises that we didn't have time to fulfil

Yet still I retreat

Into that silent solace shell

That quiet place where I love to dwell

Yet knowing that for others it is their living hell

I am escaping from those who are close to those who are close to me

I am indicating my displeasure yet achieving less than nought you'll see

Yet still I repeat

Once again the same mistake

My inherent stubbornness it is no fake

Jealousy is always the fiend I choose to rake

We are all having fun, we are all going places, days on the beach, days at the races

We did have fun, we did follow our traces, days on the beach, those old familiar chases

Yet still in deceit

I hide deep behind the word

Driving along nudging the highway kerb

Always doing what I do, intending to disturb

We are building rooms, fireplaces and floors, we are replacing windows; drawing plans, buying wooden doors

We did construct; wardrobes, bathrooms, kitchen shelves; only then to destruct; gardens, pathways, your living hell

Yet still my mind is fleet

Always unfulfilled, inside out

Hard to whisper, harder to shout

Never committing, fearing the doubt

We are going away, to an isolated cottage in the dales, with friends, with family, with wine, with real ale

We went away, to an island hotel by the sail, taking the children, to a place where all they did was wail

available on kindle

21

So many comparisons that pass me by

So many similar inferences where I am oblivious

Is this how the older sisters see their younger brother

Are his unfathomable abilities on the same plain

It is that time, at the end of the day, after an evening of reading, writing, eating and watching television; chasing opportunities for self-reflection, chasing ideas for onwards extrapolation, searching out what isn't there anymore, what most likely was neither there before. But it doesn't hurt to dream does it, and these are the thoughts that precede the dreams; these are the my self becoming aware of my most inner and intimate self. When I do go back to what might have happened, what might have been meant by those soft sensual words and tender embraces, what might I have implied from those passionate looks and the accompanying physical progressions.

So many illustrations that I can use for illusion

So many commentaries that one day I might replicate

Is this how the young boy overwhelmed his family

As his indeterminate talents exceeded all expectations

It is that time, in the clear light of day, after a morning of working and buying presents; losing, or leaving behind any detritus from the former, any joy from the latter. Such that now we one might think of oneself as a writer; not a Colm Toibin or anyone heavyweight, but as a lightweight who lets the words drop onto the page as snow might fall, without story or setting, without hook or strap line. Not even time for my self to to engage with my inner or my intimate self, for now all I do is to look forwards, towards the next virgin page, to the next empty notebook of a life yet to be lived, of actions yet to be determined, of loves and lusts yet to be chased, or reinforced or discarded.

available on kindle

20

We all lose our way sometimes don't we

I know I've lost mine once or twice

With head in hands

Wondering what's gone wrong

Pray don't let anyone see me like this

She calls me in the sad times

In the bad times of the morning

She sways me as the dust might

As the devil in disguise, soaring

And with my head I my hands

Stone cold and wondering

Pray don't let anyone see me like this

If all I ever did was write

Record songs and make movies

If all I ever did was fight

Bang on relentless drinking smoothies

So few words one to the other

Call out into the silence

See what it shall freely uncover

Under the rainbow

Still feeling blue

Always in the search

Of that beauty what's true

It's all of a fashion

To trespass on the other self

To remember nights of passion

Sat here in fading health

available on kindle

19

The toys are the toys are the toys that we lose

A light goes out each time we choose

The loss is the loss is the loss that turns to bruise

Darkness is the shadow of the parting news

Some dreams don't matter anymore

Yet still the catkins emerge in December

Some thoughts forever surge and pour

Yet still the difficulty is to remember

The noise is the noise is the noise that we lose

A lamp flickers each time we choose

The eyes are the eyes are the eyes to see the bruise

Sorrow is the meadow of the parting news

Some pleasures don't hit the higher score

Yet still the snow settles in December

Some scents say bonjour mon amour

Yet harder dwell the words to send her

The boys are the boys are the boys that we lose

A candle quenched each time we choose

The sense is the sense is the sense to feel the bruise

Hurtful is the emotion of the parting news

Some hopes wait behind the closing door

Yet the dustbowl still blows in December

Some images fall beneath the boarded floor

Yet don't doubt yourself, you're the defender

Darkness is the shadow of the parting news

Yet still the catkins emerge in December

Sorrow is the meadow of the parting news

Yet still the show settles in December

Hurtful is the emotion of the parting news

Yet the dustbowl still blows in December

Some dreams don't matter anymore

Yet the difficulty is to remember

Some pleasures don't hit the score

Yet harder dwell the words to send her

Some hopes wait behind the closing door

Yet don't doubt yourself you're the defender

available on kindle

18

Now we might put the flowers way behind us

The scents of freesias and lilies to lie behind us

Check out the flights of those early carnations

Even consider lavender to be more than herb

And in that time, however long

Of putting the flowers way behind us

And on that flight, however far

Of no longer being beside the carnations

Now we might put the flowers long behind us

The illness and confusion of love and recovery

Or we may stand silent, in the open doorway

Even consider stepping slowly down the hallway

And in that place, however untimely

Of being confused by flowers long behind us

And in that mood, however distant

Of no longer being still shadows in the doorway

available on kindle