December 29, 2012

 

 

Sometimes, by chance or design,

she found herself in his home town.

Treading the pavements she imagined

he still trod, she saw his face in each

passer by, his smiling eyes, his wistful sigh,

his reluctant acceptance of their goodbye.

 

‘What was, what if, what could have been’,

thoughts jumbled into one. Time had not

diminished her longings, nor ever her sadness

gone, but on days like these she found solace,

though sadly, closure, never.

She went to her grave still loving him,

her one true love, forever.

 

 

 

December 28, 2012

 

 

From tiny acorns, oak trees come to be.

A glimmer in the heart, no eye can ever see.

A love that simmers on low heat consistently,

is worth the wait of all eternity.

 

 

 

 

 

Although he raved

and misbehaved,

when he was drowning,

his life she saved.

 

 

 

 

So much bottle,

so much front,

so much self bravado.

 

So much hard centre,

so much thick skin,

so like an avocado.

 

 

 

 

 

Today is the yesterday, when you

promised yourself the moon.

Tomorrow won’t be any different,

unless you get off your backside soon.

 

 

 

 

 

To stand in the space where she stood,

when you looked into her eyes and were

misunderstood, and wondered if you

shouldn’t or should, is the agony you still

put yourself through, for the rose never

blossomed and remained a bud.

And to yearn for her after so long,

cannot do the heart any good.

 

 

 

 

They are going through a purple patch,

devoid of sloths and moles,

and putting one foot forward,

after years with crippled souls.

 

 

 

 

It’s a new day, with a whole new  

set of people to meet and greet.

More names to remember,

more faces to familiarise with.

Sort the chaff from the wheat,

rise up and compete.

 

 

 

 

She knows someone who knows him well,

and from time to time, lets her know

how he’s growing.

Having that link, even second hand,

puts her at ease when the cold wind

comes blowing.

 

 

 

December 24, 2012

 

 

 

Mendotta bumped into Percoughalees,

as she emerged from the Boulangerie.

‘What are you doing in Paris?’ asked Mendotta.

‘From you, Percoughalees, I’ll never be free!’

 

‘Oh dearest Mendotta, what a surprise!

Let me assist you with your baps’

‘I’m quite capable, thank you Percoughalees’,

said Mendotta, sensing  yet another of his traps’.

 

 

 

 

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