February 28, 2014

 

 

Broken glass against walls

smashing, in the street below,

is picked up on tyres of traffic

crashing, swerving too and fro.

 

Drunken revellers shouting,

screaming, in the street below.

Manic laughter, then smudged eyes

streaming, as many tears flow.

 

All hell has broken out

uncontrollably, in the street below.

Police cars arrive and then

Paramedics, and only blood on show.

 

 

 

 

 

Her mistrust of the world,

when she as a player,

in search of the truth

turned to every soothsayer.

 

Yet her intuition right

on so many levels,

when her wisdom I mistook

for demons and devils.

 

All too late for forgiveness;

her voice rings out in my ear.

I now know I’ve become her,

and feel her presence near.

 

 

 

 

Her nail-bed repairing;

nail varnish she’s wearing,

and now for the right reasons,

folks at her hands staring.

 

 

 

 

 

The sun shades in winter.

The open top car.

The friend at the airport

giving tickets to travel afar.

 

The obvious likeness

in almost every viewing,

shines out like a beacon,

and has the barristers queuing.

 

 

 

 

She told me there was an incident

that had been dealt with and put to bed,

though not being completely obliterated,

still remained in the back of her head.

 

 

 

 

Pages of lines,

taken as if gifted.

Re-appearing by magic;

automatically air-lifted

 

by someone who’s loyalty

has certainly drifted,

and only coming to light

when evidence sifted.

 

 

February 21, 2014

 

 

The hammer blow;

the final straw.

The insult that hit home,

with truth so raw.

 

 

 

 

The advice I could give

might blow up in my face.

I cannot read your future

or suggest which path to trace.

 

They say ‘don’t ever go back’,

but that’s not strictly true,

as long as you approach it

with a different point of view.

 

The advice I could give

I will therefore withhold.

I cannot second guess,

nor profess to be so bold.

 

They say ‘don’t ever go back’,

but in the end it’s up to you.

You are not seeking permanence,

so for now, it probably will do.

 

The advise I could give,

you might not want to hear.

I don’t want to be the one

who makes you shed a tear

 

They say ‘don’t ever go back’,

or try to re-enact your fate.

It’s in the lap of the gods,

so sit tight and simply wait.

 

The advise I could give

is really of no help.

In truth, we are all in transit,

until the day we melt.

 

They say ‘don’t ever go back,

but in our minds we are still there,

stuck in the groove of reality,

trying to escape from that nightmare.

 

 

February 19, 2014

 

 

How refreshing is ‘dry’ January,

with no sluggish starts to the day,

as we recover from the party season

by keeping excess at bay.

 

The body begins to repair itself,

and the bloated look leaves our cheeks,

now the wine that seemed so essential,

is out of sight for four weeks.

 

And for a time, only still water,

flowing fast through each vein.

No dreaded trips to the bottle bank

and being caught in the pouring rain.

 

A chance to reflect in all seriousness,

what the lack of consumption makes,

to our mood and general demeanour;

no ‘morning after’ headaches or shakes.

 

And although February starts off cautiously,

with good intent to stay dry and have none

all too soon arrives good old Valentines Day,

when glasses clink and the game is back on. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Cry wolf and then cry wolf some more,

and scare the blighters from your door.

 

Cry imbeciles and then consult.

No more to take their damned insult.

 

 

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