February 9, 2014

 

 

Thank God we are air signs

and of the same mind,

and able to fly over obstacles

and happiness find.

 

Thank God we have freedom

and bags packed to go,

but to what destination,

we never do know!

 

 

 

Take one gram of imagination,

and two grams of inspiration,

then mix together rampantly

with a few drops of perspiration.

 

Now set aside for an hours duration,

using the time for deserved relaxation,

whilst counting your many blessings,

to spread on top, as divine decoration.

 

 

 

 

 

In times of hardship

you were there;

a constant in my set.

Re-assuring and cajoling,

and to you I am in debt.

 

In times of heartache

you were there;

the first to hold my hand.

Re-affirming and supporting,

without question or demand.

 

 

 

February 4, 2014

 

 

Inside my bag of troubles

nestles hidden gems.

Strange, but true, believe me;

as bright as diadems.

 

I’ve seen them for myself.

I glimpsed their light reflection.

Only for a second, did,

they beg for my inspection.

 

They teased and gave me hope,

when I looked in their direction,

Inside my bag of troubles,

I felt momentary affection.

 

Perhaps I looked too deeply,

beyond the junk and clutter.

‘I am really such a thick sod’,

to myself, I had to mutter.

 

It came out of the blue,

and took me by surprise.

A second of self loathing,

A quick flash of old despise.

 

I recovered almost instantly,

as stark reality set in.

l gazed into my bag of troubles,

and almost cracked a grin.

 

What I knew, and always had known,

and what was obviously quite clear,

was that I couldn’t exist upon this earth,

without my bag of troubles near.

 

 

 

 

You are the soul that calls to me,

who reads me like a book.

The one who knows me inside out,

when others, purity, mistook.

 

You are the link that joins me to

the heartache I’ve endured.

You feel my pain, as I feel yours;

we both have been Midge Ure’d.

 

 

 

 

 

Promise you won’t sell up

and move house, Mum.

We’ll have no place left

to call home!

 

Where will we dump

all our stuff, Mum,

when we return from

our travels to Rome.

 

Please don’t downsize

and move on, Mum.

This house holds,

for us, so much joy.

 

and bruv needs his room

to crash out in, Mum,

when his assignment

is finished in Illinois.

 

Please don’t get on

with your life, Mum.

It’s not as if you’ll

never see us again.

 

There’s still lots of

reasons to stay, Mum.

Why on earth would

you move to Spain?

 

 

 

 

 

Each night I pray

that they will come

and tip-toe on my bed.

And give me solace

like once they did.

But sadly, they are dead.

 

I pray that they will

come to me, with their

deafening scream.

And say ‘me-owwww,

we’re back again’.

But it’s a far off dream.

 

I pray that they will

sit on me, forcing me

to keep still.

Or be my constant shadow;

tripping me endlessly,

when I turn around at will.

 

I pray that they will

think of me, as now

in heaven they reign.

If only the years I had

with them, could come

around again.

 

 

 

When all reasoning leaves the alcove space,

and flees for cover to loves warm embrace.

All too late, melting footsteps to trace;

time to finally accept, a mirrored face.

 

 

They lived as one, side by side,

but now their house is for sale.

How sad to see the changes come,

as time, makes us all so frail.

 

 

 

 

 

To strike a blow

at ones achilles heal,

shows lack of tact

and very little zeal.

 

So of it the victim

mustn’t make a meal,

but instead gather strength,

and all hurt conceal.

 

 

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