In steaming milk
the lumps
afloating
reminders of
days long gone
memories of
better times
of richness and beauty
across the land
Now spartan walls
in all directions
a crumbling floor
begreets my eyes
every morn
the broken arrow in
shoulder stuck
singing karaoke on
its own
Cupid – shooter –
waster of time
Not sure anymore
if I’ve ever been
on fire but
being burnt out now
I guess I
must have
been – once
I saw a stranger’s hand
reaching out
to give or to receive
I cannot say but
it was attached to
my arm
either way
You said she knew
I fancied her
the Woman in Red
Miss Divine
all those years ago.
Maybe if I knew that
she knew I might
have known that
others knew too
and that
would have made
all the
difference
Would you part with gold
for a day in Paradise.
Don the leaves of Adam or Eve
follow the path to Shangri-La
betwixt the twin peaks.
Your dreams with vivid visions of
horizons and paradise lost
Xanadu is calling if
you open your screaming heart.
Would you part with gold
for a day in Paradise.
I say that you are already there
open your eyes
let go of the fear
the gold you seek
is everywhere.
I don’t speak Maths
but still I programme
miniature computers
till the night is
dawning
I don’t speak Music
but still sing in the shower
and dance the mambo
with a head full of
loudness
I don’t speak Poetry
but still I stack
word upon word to try
to convey my world
to you
My eyes barely
OPEN
I look but cannot see
CLEARLY
your meaning
The subtleties of
Wording
No insults as far as
I can’t see
Better reread them
ALL AGAIN
over breakfast
Coffee steam
and toasties
POETIC JUSTICE
deserves
