The wistful gaze of the child
thoughts so pure, actions mild
untainted by life’s cruelty
lost in innocent revelry

I admire their guileless devotion
motivated by simple emotion
a generous hug, a cheek kiss
every day they fill me with bliss

I wish I could see through their eyes
no hatred filled thoughts, no guise
sadness has not yet blotted their heart
honour, integrity still intact

The blue has seeped away now, no reds or greens to see,
the day has turned to winter's darkened grey,
the fitful gusts are those of northern winds,
the flakes, they fall just one by one apart,
the art of poetry cannot declaim their presence in the park,
each landing on the rivers edge, the stream
where dissipating they remain a dreamed reality
only a substance we assume is there its white totality,
where life of fish and frogs are hidden, never seen.

help!!
i'm running out of sugar
yeah,
the one that makes life taste better
the color!!
it doesn't really matter
it could be white or brown
or of lavender

anything that'd sweeten my days
when they taste bitter and sour.

What a wondrous godforsaken hellish
cold place, to get committable…

Precious pieces in patterns perfect,
that’s how they made the tree of Yew.
Then wooden seating for sitting silent,
please if you dare, sit down, take a pew.

I have no truck with god or religion,
but that don’t mean I’m morally bad.
Can’t see the point, I think it’s a con
to worship a leader in a draughty pad. Fad.

We have to rebirth,
the soul of this planet
praying it be cleansed
and gentled evermore,
but as nails keep piercing
hands reach to smooth
her scared shroud

It has to be worshipped
like the apostle to the apostles,
but with a feast of celebration
everyday, dressed in her finest,
she must be read and chronicled
by scribes across the ages

This
Poem
No muscle blood or flesh
Just this irritating
Nothingness
A mouth without a head
Whining constantly for food
Never adequately fed
Demanding all the time for more-
But will not lift or sing
Or even form
Some perfect thing

Just a grumblement of words-
That make no sense
An incoherent mess-
No poem here at all
But will not let me rest
Some manipulative lover this
An ill fitting bastard of a friend
Forcing words
Which
Never
Seem
To

End

Wipers play
"so young"
and the rivets shake
with the afternoon freight
across Thunderbridge
and a dream shatters
like a breath through
the crystal flakes
braking down from the
ragged clouds
atop the town

the seeking light
its golden rays
catching windows
and sleeping cats
and icy attics
empty of bats

snowflakes pause
on your eyelids
quietly you step
along
past windowshops
and the townhall
clock

The woman and her boyfriend
were looking for a mark
A robust, dark and handsome man
was sitting in the park

Killer disappointed
no vacant hotel rooms
sat on the bench and brooded
Whistled tuneless tunes

His baggage in a pile
all around his feet
marked him for a fish
these two cats could eat

Hey Monsieur, you look so glum
what’s the matter here?
Killer says; I’ve got no room
and I really need a beer

SUNDOWNING

I am geometry in slow motion
straight lines and right angles.
I move my body with great precision
in time and space decisions.
but with the falling of the sun
Affliction rises from the dark and deep
to violate my dignity again.
I become a puppet on a broken string
floundering in my flawed humanity….

THE DARK SIDE

INTRO.
Guess we all have a Dark Side but don't let it show,
Much prefer screams of laughter to screams from below
But I should let it out for some air, in the night.
Mustn't let it roam free though (huge teeth! what a bite!)

My Dark Side has taken and twisted my thinking,
I try to make sense of this world but it's stinking;
A pungent miasma from old good intentions.
With rancid assistance that needs disinfection.