This is spring

beautifully musical...
spring is at the doorstep here
but tis still minus six...
perhaps a day more
winter may like to stay

if spring comes
can summer be far away...

then all of us will say
Global Warming by the way and

the scorching heat will burn our skin
soft cream we all shall apply ...
the ointments price will rise sky high---
then we shall say blast the economy

come rain and take the heat away
some one will say
let winter stay...

POETIC JUSTICE ITS JUST US THIS IS MY FIRST POST AND ONLY POETS I JUST TRUST JUST POETS IS A MUST ITS LIKE A SEXUAL THRUST THE EXCITEMENT FULLFILLED ENJOYMENT TO DISCUSS ON PAPER POETIC JUSTICE READS WITH A RUSH POETRY TO ME IS LIKE A CHILDS FIRST CRUSH.

No reprieve, no second chance
No turning back to do, undo
Time has passed her by
Without a glance

Life unfair, left in despair, no more ribbons in her hair
What had been grace and beauty
Now turned to songs unsung
And no one there to listen or to care

Fading flowers, empty hours
Potential unmet, doors now shut
Empty dreams o'er which to grieve
Life once sweet, now turned to wine that soured

burning candle flame!
(live visual..)

she is like a candle
cold but very still
held in a lovers hand
so very still ...
till she is lit and flame starts flickering,
she flickers,flickers too
but slowly ,silently...

her body curvaceous
wriggles within
the arms of her consort
now she can’t slip out…

the flame warms up gradually
the wax begins to melt
lover her lips does cement
with breezes

he softly does blow
to make her brightness glow

Fastidious

Starched shirt paisley tie
Both frayed
Worn with dignity

Suit shining witness
To countless years
Service

White silk handkerchief
Mottled as ancient cream

Shoes cracked
Polished to a glow

Meticulous

He is seminal
To the community

A profession
Of great regard
And universal need

His chambers
City Hall square

The town mendicant
Providing
Chance for giving
And receiving

Gratitude

The ordinariness of the day
contrasted to the
epiphany
that followed...

Another tedious chore
the packet of false
images
stayed on the bathroom
floor

Always led to believe
youth captured
now held ransom
to self- fulfilling prophecy
of age intrigue

The beauty peddlars
stupid suits
but women pardoners too
convinced us
with trickery
that grey hues
were meant only
for the truth meddlars

When we first moved in here,
there was a bag man,
well, an old age pensioner,
who passed by the building every day,
carrying a white plastic bag,
stopping occasionally
to rest on a bench;
he was to be seen so regularly
that one looked out for him.

The story goes, in haste they flew.
A sudden urge within them grew
to conquest and for glory's sake;
to win the day, the prize to take.
With Tantalla, they swiftly made 5
their way through many nooks and shade
and under boughs and over tree
they sped like wild birds, swift and free.
Their larking made her break to song
and Tantalla raised up a throng 10
of dancing trees and bowing leaves.
The notes she sings with magics weave
to life the ancient grey lit trees
that rush in chorus, twos and threes

VIRGIN BUTTER

I never liked re-heated espresso
stale Italian bread for the dunking
spread with early morning butter
pricked by an onion stick
the night before.

Burnt rubber and rancid
nausea and acid.

How I miss those year’s
my very best years
of continental breakfast
all together.

sitting
in the corner
of a pub

I write vows
and eulogies
I speak
of the dead
visiting
the departed

speaking of love
waxing of life
on the breath
of a baby

I take minutes
of hours
I wrap my hands
in cheesecloth

stained with black
my fingernails
have loosened
from their beds

life passes through
my pen, surging
and ebbing
with each tragedy
or celebration

I read lips
hear tones
watching from afar
the faces