I could see his blue sweatshirt was torn The pain inflicted shone on his face The vulgarity of it tore at my heart There grew a longing to help I noticed white feathers drop beside the young boy Which told me an angel was watching over him An old saying popped into mind Trouble follows trouble Is there a way to bluff your way through life? Dodge fate? Will he end up with butterfliesand rainbows? He lay on the park bench as peoplejostle by I sit opposite, catching a glimpse of him Like looking through a slatted window His life in small slices Is there a way to double his luck? What a pity I am not his fairy godmother I would take away the terriblefate I fear for him I hope the white feather has some merit…
Walking towards the glowing archway My sister said Phlegethon, Watch out for fairies She loved to throw out big words It’s Sunday, mum thinks we are in church I kick a tin can, bored I wanted to smuggle my bike from the shed Mum was watching from the kitchen window I swear she is psychic She knows how to dig things from my mind I crack my knuckles I yell to my sister not to step into the triangle of flowers Too late, I felt time flip. She was gone I heard the whisper of her voice Telling me it’s all right The mellifluous voice that followed her message Sounded sickly sweet, too smooth for my liking What the hell am I to tell mum Or does she know all ready?
Hands are made to touch, to feel sensation Hot, cold, silk, satin, warm skin on a cold night To give us music, to soothe another’s sorrow To hold a new borne baby’s head, feel that tiny life Remembering hands were not always so kind Not so long ago they were in the dark ages Now, hands we never get to see, grow food for us Make the clothes on our backs Shoes to stop the heat of the day Burning through our soles Best of all, are the hands that love you the most…
I struggle with the amount of elbows That poke me in the back, the side I wish someone could save me from public transport Last week, I almost found myself on the floor With the rush of elbows When did they become weapons? It is most disconcerting being beaten up By a well-dressed warrior Someone else overheard my remark I had not meant to speak out loud The daily struggle is too much I need a new direction in life Heaven knows what I can do The corrosion in my life Help me to follow a better tune Checking my savings account My tiny flat is paid for So, I can see I have enough for about a year Can I write a number one bestseller in that time? Don’t ask, do…
I believe in the other side Whether you can see it or not It is always there, like dust motes That float, no matter how many times you clean the house? As you walk through the room You see them, caught in a light beam from the window. You never feel them touch your cheek Unlike the remote seduction That had me lip biting, dizzy with feelings I cannot define, my breath shallow Body tremble, shattering sound The supply of pleasure beyond words Behind the mask, a guttural sound A voice full of gravel Shattering all illusion I am awake now…
The dishonourableso and so Standing on the sidewalk With that cocky look on his face So sure of his self Believing most folk will forgethis misdeeds. I wear the crystal he gave me. He was someone I loved. The chains he wove have fallen from me. I am no longer cramped, hiding in corners. Awareness floods my being. I have no need to search my mind, Looking for ways to blame myself. His loftyplatitudes fall on the ground behind me, Where they vanish like fallen leaves Picked up by the wind…
Dancing in the dark, beneath the new moon I spot a tiny distant star First star at night, I make my wish Let life never end Let my life go on forever Let moonlight enter each new life Let the mystery of moonlight live on Teaching magic in subtle ways Let me forever dance beneath This mysterious light…
The shape of wind Looked like a greasy bacon sandwich I heard the scream of excitement As the float passed us on new easy wheels That stayed on this time Looking over the heads of the crowd I could see the return of the shirtless man in apartment 3B I have been told that nothing good Comes of his beautiful body on display through his window for all to see Don’t let his smile fool you He breaks hearts like others collect stamps There is value in stamps, you get nothing For a broken heart…
I cross the old wooden bridge
A time machine to the past
Each step could be the one
To trigger the magic
I am halfway across, looking back
I can see nothing,
clouds, mountain tops, no bridge
My footsteps vanished,
alongside the old wooden planks
I walk on, praying
Please let the next step take me home
The clouds ahead looked thinner
Started to clear
I could see the most amazing buildings
Blue and white
Gripping the rail edge to move on
A white shroud stole my beautiful vista
I was alone,
nothing but wooden planks ahead of me
That’s when I heard a small voice
Do you want your old life?
I couldn’t stop myself from yelling, yes!
Then turn around. If you have faith
The bridge will appear
Would you take that step back
With nothing to see but clouds?
Stuck between the tick and the tock The Joker plays his final hand. It was bound to happen, wedged between the pack The two cards merge under the Jokers spoken word Lovers from the beginning, Nothing would have kept them apart. The Joker, thinking he has done them wrong To mess up the pack, to pay the many hands back For leaving him out of the games they play He has done those broken souls a favour, Bringing them together A spell once woven, is rarely broken when love is true. Turn the card over to read the final words the Joker spoke to seal the deal. Off with their heads!
Morning did nothing to shake the cobwebs from last night’s dream. They had decided to exhume my mother-in-law. The piquant reminder followed me around. My wife seemed to be in with the fallout, cooking crepes for breakfast. Mother’s favourite. Friday, late afternoon, I skipped work. Sat in the park, beneath the cherry blossoms I watched that age-old chase, boys after girls. Wishing I could shave off a few years. The masculine in me, feeling insecure. She who always has to be obeyed has cast a large shadow. I am in awe of my wife’s ability to be nothing like her late mother. I must admit, I may have painted her darker than necessary…