In my garden the crouch grass
celebrate their resilience,
and the trellised Wisteria
never fulfilled their frame.
The planted dahlias
can wait another year or two
and the promised acer never was that variety,
undone by my gardener
whose solitary iris is an
forlong dream.

The orange tulips had a short run,
you could ******* disappointment.
The daffodils hitchhiked life a little longer.
Spring came too early,
and confused the season
and now we wait for summers grandstand.

The ground seems to be heating up,
at times caught short by the morning airs.
The Bluebells their defy age,
Pale like wading, waiting to flourish
in the sometime soon

Thought I understood the world
where's there's a message buried in there somewhere,
carried by a higher ideal.
Endless days of waiting,
Eastern nights bedevils his schemes,
bright lights cannot identify the griever,
running faster I am another searcher

I cut her pages out once,
naked with her ambition,
now dashing her analogous dreams

The spotlights smeared
her with guilt.

She is talking about her banal dreams
with the art of withholding

She will be needlessly pleading,
a labyrinth; gnawing; insisting,
hold your penitence
the need will follow her

We eat our chopped  aubergine
and dinned on Safeway white wine
Croydon was like a civic jewel in the crown
We were the Manhattan of the South

We had our record shops Beanos and Cloakes
music was our soul
We had the renowned Fairfield Halls
saw Camel play there
and we drank with mirth
from the abundance of pubs

she's buried her hopes,
somewhere far from home.
Daddy was a dreamer.
Mother scrubbed the floor .
The dog has a bone to bury
and lets pretend that the day is long
as it is drawn
with the customary cold spot in the night

she mistrusts the breeze,
the moon is going down the alcove,
come home there's a message in your head,
as sure as the lone tree,
promise your life away,
it was understood in a day
the silence of quietdom
plays the torture of lust.