Garden

May 18, 2018 at 8:47 pm (Poems) (, , , , )

A garden has a lot to teach
When in my life I overreach,

Reminding me to find the place
Beneath my feet, where earth’s embrace

Will give me all I ever need
To reap the love I sewed from seed,

For though life’s secrets will unfold
And I must wander till I’m old

It is a garden filled with flowers
Where I will spend my happiest hours.

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Train

April 23, 2018 at 7:34 am (Poems) (, , )

I love train journeys
Sitting with perfect strangers
Drinking cold coffee.

The book in my bag
is dull in comparison:
all life is right here –

Held tight in packed bags,
contained anticipation:
quietly ready.

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Boots

April 2, 2018 at 10:56 am (Poems) (, , , )

Heber sits down on the dusty driveway.

He unties the double knot, loosens his right boot and takes it off.

His woollen sock has a hole at the toe

And another, larger one, at the heel.

Heber tugs at the string on the other boot.

It is stuck, fast. With mighty will, he breaks the string, and removes the second boot.

Heber takes the broken string in his old fingers

And mends it with a knot his father taught him.

Then, he takes the other boot and ties it to its shabby brother

He pulls himself up to stand upon the dusty driveway, in his woollen socks, boots in hand

And looks up.

Heber looks up at the great tree branches

Still leafless, after a keen winter.

He looks up at the pale grey sky edged by impending weather

Heber learned to throw, as a lad, long long ago, at school

As he raises his arm, a memory of winning crosses his lips and he smiles.

So Heber has his arm raised, then swings it far back, and up again,

The weight of his two old boots lending momentum

Up, the boots fly, high into the tree.

Heber looks till his neck begins to ache.

He looks up at his boots, swinging from the great tree,

And he looks at all the other boots, strings tied and paired, swinging in the tree.

Heber has a thought, chuckles, and walks

Noting the sharpness of pebbles in woollen socks, on the dusty driveway.

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Alice

March 23, 2018 at 9:52 am (Poems) (, , , , , )

Alice drank the bottle dry
Her life shifted
She craved entertainment
Following an impossible rabbit.

Her life shifted
The garden was beautiful for a time
But getting out was a problem
And overeating overcompensated.

She craved entertainment
But was swept away in a pool of tears
People plied her with reasoning
Which made no sense to Alice.

Following an impossible rabbit
Alice joined a tea drinking forum
And met many false friends
Narrowly avoiding heartbreak.

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Running Out

March 15, 2018 at 7:50 am (Poems) (, , , )

Gas is running out. Coal is

running out. Patience is exhausted.

Sage is just an antiquated word,

and thyme moves on inexoriably.

When beauty becomes the name of a blurred remembering

Beyond the helping hand of hearing aids and spectacles

I will run out into the street like a lost toddler

Screaming to be reconnected.

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Mattress ditty (sung to a tune that fits snuggly)

March 14, 2018 at 8:44 pm (Poems) (, , , , )

We have a new matteress in our house

It’s six feet long, and widee

No hope of us ever amoving it cuz

It’s made of lead insidee

Delivery men in a terrible rush

Have dumped it in the doorway

We cunna get past and it dussena push

We’ll have to sleep in the hallway!

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Left over

January 7, 2018 at 7:17 pm (Uncategorized) (, , , )

Left over from the grand affair

She hangs around the empty plates
Hidden in makeup and glossy hair

Left over from the grand affair

Pretending that she doesn’t care
Waiting while the fear abates

Left over from the grand affair
She hangs around the empty plates.

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Gym

November 8, 2017 at 11:34 am (Uncategorized) (, , )

To live completely is akin
to building muscles in a gym
Every lift, bend, stretch and pull
makes us feel incredible.

And when we’re tired and ache to rest
we know that we have worked our best
and quietly sit and watch our young
arrive, warm up and carry on.

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Coming Home

November 1, 2017 at 11:15 pm (Uncategorized) (, , , )

Often living souls will stray

Sometimes they will tip and sway

But as the tide returns each day

Soon they will come home.

.

Where do catlike spirits fly

Which toil would hold and stultify?

They’re hunting free, but by and by

Soon they will come home.

.

Forget the knots of doubt that bind

us to the clock, uncloak the mind,

reach far beyond, and unconfined

we’ll welcome our souls home.

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Stones

February 4, 2017 at 3:08 pm (history, Poems, Stories) (, , , , , , , , )

He brought down the axe
on those prehistoric stones
that had regally edged his flower bed
public and permanent
undisputed leave to rule granted,
planted, for centuries.

Meaning to smash those stones,
dash them down to size
despising their indestructible
smooth confidence, since
his lay shattered,
he refused to be thwarted by disease,
disappointment and a blunt axe.

Raising his game he brought to bear
great anger and frustration,
torn muscles and brittle bones
screaming, tears streaming in rivers
past slivers of stone,
whilst they remained, undiminished
taking pain without complaint.

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