Innocent as
calves at slaughter,
was your way
of presentation.
You came to me
in the shape of a shadow.
From the peace of the shallows
where they meet with depth
you trailed me...
within my shadow,
so I would
hardly notice you.
Everywhere
I went, you followed,
like some stalker tag-along.
Days came
nights went
ever so slowly,
like liquid ooze.
I felt the sting
of transformation,
as year followed
in repetitious years.
Gradually changes marred

My Father is my hero.
My best friend and role model.

He always says time is money.

My Father works hard at what he does and
achieves the best he can.
My Father was a Superiendent at Heaven Hill Distillery.
As a child he took me to work with him.

My Father taught me the Love of God the Father

My Father is t he head of our family.He shows us
unconditional love and respect for each other.

My Father was a wonderful, loving Father to me.

Your last breath
My first tear
I look upon the clock 12.55
Months of pain vanished
A peaceful look on your face
Memories of childhood flood
All things unsaid surfaced
What were our last words?
How do I tell the others?
The times we laughed together
Holding my hand in difficult times
I stroke your face
I kiss your cold forehead
I hold your hand
I say goodbye
I look upon the clock 12.55
The moment time stood still

A shadow's real shape
Depends upon the depth of our dreams
A nightly escape

Sometimes we see smiles
Of our loved ones whom we remember
Forgetting the trials

Some nights we feel pain
Looking back reviewing our mistakes
Enduring the strain

Each night as we sleep
The shape of our dreams enters our minds
We laugh or we weep

Our shadows reveal
The daily actions that fill our day
Showing how we feel

A poem about the present,
Settle down and take a pew.
No need for premonitions,
Or dreams to get you through.

No crystal ball is needed,
Don't bother with all that stress.
Forget the liberal way of thinking,
You'll manage fine with less.

Competition became your enemy,
In this game where you're the pawn.
And you'll never reach that target,
When fighting too much scorn.

When children have the pain of adults
Their tears tumble down the cheeks
To their empty bellies, like adults

Not all of them are mine or yours or theirs
They are the children of the world, our world
With a future meant to be bright but still bleak,
Hopelessness evident at the point of neglect.

My dog is running in his sleep.
He makes muffled noises,
chasing after who knows what.

He seems to be having fun.
Do dogs have nightmares?

His eyes twitching quicker now,
he must be very close
to running down his dream.
I hope he sees me there with him.

This morning
I collected two items
from the famous shop in Camberwell
which repairs almost everything.
I spoke with the legend himself,
Michael.
He returned the two items I gave him
to repair,
the ukulele case
and a large tote bag
in which a zip had been installed.
My face was beaming with happiness.
I enjoy repairing items,
restoring them either to functioning order,
or even,
an improved state.

Odin, do you see me still?
I wielded sword, on bloody spill.
I never doubted, mocked or feared
will my death become revered?

Yes, I burned their temples down.
And cast my name upon their crown.
How I laughed when arrows flew,
to mark my fame as stories grew.

Odin, do you weigh my worth
or claim my soul at my rebirth?
My brothers lost, their voices stilled,
did they ascend, in combat killed?

We were watching ice skating on television,
and, suddenly, I was desperately missing my mother.
I couldn’t exactly connect the reason why in the moment.
The capriciousness of sadness, I assumed.

She was not into ice skating, as far as I know.
But maybe she could have learned to appreciate it,
and we would have watched it together, had we more time.
This thought welcome, I thanked her for the visit.