Venus is beautiful
Second only
To my beloved

An earthly flower
Which blooms
At the foothills of Helicon

You are my Siren
My ears ring,with your love.Constantly.
My ears bleed,with your love.Constantly
It chokes and feeds me.
You make deep burgundy so life affirming.
Let's drown together.
We can learn to breathe in our own world.

I don’t have to say I love you,
As frequently as I do.
But a soothing warmth flows through me,
When I say those words to you.

I don’t have to take you in my arms,
When I see you walking about.
But to feel your body pressed to mine,
Is a blessing I can’t do without.

Doors open.
Windows open.
Skies open up,
when the rain starts to fall,
and thunder and lightning strike.

My mind opens,
opens up to,
where I am here and now.
When it does,
I make discoveries.
I am an explorer,
of my mind.
I make no judgements.

I expand my horizons,
in the very same way the sun rises,
every day in the east.
These expansive scenes,
open me to the new day.

it’s hard to single
heroes out
they all look much
the same to us
black and white
formal dress
Marxist maybe
Chaplinesque
they tramp the end
of the world
cock their heads
as if they heard
something muffled
on the wind
spectators chuckle
when they spin
dads take their turn
while mothers fish
to bear the egg
and brave the lash
with dignity
that moves
en masse

I’m looking over my shoulder,
Both prepared and unprepared
To see your face in the crowd
Staring at me
As if I’m the only one there.

I’m looking in my rearview mirror
For your truck
Following every turn I take
Trying to figure out where I’m going

I’m looking out my bedroom window
Finding the shadows
Watching for any signs of movement
Listening for any sounds

You drive my senses senseless,
So much so that I wish it endless.

You entrap my vision, so I seek only you,
That gentle face seems too good to be true.

But that glare that stems from those beautiful eyes,
Ensures the thought that you are only mine.

Almost as much as when you utter the words,
The words I had longed for, the ones I have heard

Your endearing voice fully drowns the sound,
Of all others that appear to surround.

So much so that to hear another,
Is to silence the sound we have made for each other.

as does yours truly,
whose ecological ethos
goes out the window
into the cold freezing iceland
prompting the following balderdash.

Upon the advent of an unexpected inspection
slated for tomorrow January 24th, 2025
myself and the missus,
(the latter bedridden
due to feeling physically unwell)
scrambled like the dickens (Charles to you)
to play merry maid to buckle down
and break a sweat sweeping and vacuuming,
plus applying the BISSELL
PROHEAT PETTURBO RUG CLEANER.

My ten-year-old drops in on me often.
This time he wants to go to the toy section.

He's drawn to robot heroes that transform,
and the crazy array of action figures
all just hanging there ready to be wanted.

We don't purchase any. We're just here to look.
I admire his discipline not to bring any home.

My ten-year-old has a touch of arthritis these days,
and eyes that need an assist to admire all the features
still firing his nostalgia, tucked away within
brightly colored cardboard and plastic.

If you were an artwork, what would you be,
a Van Gogh flower, bought by bourgeoisie?
A fictional character on kitchen sink stage,
as a woman wears shift, the Dublin outrage.

Perhaps an engraved print on sheet of copper,
a genie uncorked, from bottle no stopper.
As they pour out truths, spirits will rise,
examine the colours, all artists tell lies.