strife isn't for free
boulders cost more than heft
lacklustre fate besmirches open mouths,
taking arms against the throne
ages man,
surviving on required pittances
swales the rivers end.

we need a broom
to sweep away Sundays clowns
if failing that a noose
to make headway
Mondays so inclined in devilment
her cold chill has enthralled  me

she served  me iced tea
from her porch
the  smell of heavenly magnolia lingered,
like her locked up emotions
she was delicately bruised
but I would not rush her
no canary could I let her be
recuperation  would come in ones
unguarded moments.

When we were children our pleasures were simple
the wind seemed to comfort us
and the blue skies beckoned truth
our island unfettered
saw the finest in promise

There's little hope read in my Thesaurus
for that perfect word
perchance a summation,
some see this as a plea of sympathy
yet usher an insincere pray.
Some will scribe Snow into the pretext
telling the  reader with similes
this is not be a test,
there's no rusty pen
furtively this  is  accepted  as their non de plume.
Stained  hands, with scissors
Self  healing  with  hordes of papier-mâché

Now and then I think of Jenny
her long legs with bronze tan
and her ruffled blonde hair
in the after thought
of my long stare.

Brandishing a wand of  memories,
whose images held magical meanings
where for the first time you yearned
for knowledge as special as your
day dreams
that you still recall  today.

the pellicle mirror has cast you adrift,
through the eyes of a cameras lens
your piebald skies have became translucent
and I as the auteur sense the trace of a smile
cast as silver halides
intriguing but ultimately lacklustre,
the speed dial has somehow turned to bulb
like an expansive mantra
a hybridised moment

Emmerdale lost her confidence
and that's why she never go
to the brockwell lido again
she hated the way Jimmy
tried to pick her up
at the The Florence ale house,
she forsakes the 196 bus on Tuesdays and Fridays
to spend her time in the cookie shop
talking to the old dears about their senior cats in clover
and budding clematis

Jennifer neither knew east from west
laborious in her paisley dress
she wore her confidence
with her kaftan scarf
as yet she's softly spoken to
believing she holds the reigns
but how do you count delusion,
neither saint or sage be
only the faithless prevail
by not rushing
moving into the spare room.

We held the occasional truth in the palm of ours hands
right or wrong we trembled the stars
only to find the intergalactic  flotsam predisposed
but in keeping with our fears
we crossed  the  Rubicon
to  unforce the  key
down at circes place
where we never waiver

The local duchess of importance
is the bag lady
she loiters unsatisfied
the rain is a ****** loss
it ruffles her hair
kept in place by rusting clips,
whatever goldmine
she was enamoured with
was swept away in the torrent,
she's more than partial to gain
but cannot recall dancing with a
forty niner
or freeloading in the blaze.

With bags on the trains spare seat
some have lost their decorum
the snobs have moved to Herne Hill
the way they think they are the movers and shakers
makes dopes of us to believe
that class leads by distinction
or Isas solves their children's trust,
their culpable  four by fours
shows impolite roadside manners
on  the Dulwich school run.

Let the  Moon absolve my cruel streak
for persons in a  bubble may  never politely apologize,
whose idea of buoyancy and eventual wilderness
may  never soldier a  salvo of  regret

Each room has a  glow
a basking room, an aural one
if they were  circumferences
would they arc beyond the horizon?
and by unfurling  my imagination
why would  I not choose to unloosen my  certainties?
a  certain light quality permeates
only to  find  a hallway
even more intense
an antechamber in a  prism.

The meadows sway under open sky
the bud of summer streaming wide,
oak cathedrals as proud as the blossoming light
to take in this merriment;
a pledge
of molten intensity,
where the silk robed  maiden appears,
instructs the wisdom from her lips
unbinding the unsighted
surges this celestial  ennoblement.

Those travails crack and then congeal,
as our obligatory tea making shows
the weathered storms exposing our late Autumn.
Our relationship shows  we are demeritorious
your sunken eyes betray the welling
and as comical as we stand
our emotions are replete with decay
as though we waded through a muddy field.

Your poise appertains  to  longing
rouge cheeks murmurs awakening,
sunlight  russet  you  aflame
parched, have I conjured expectation?
in needing I first sought assurity
yet endowment flows,
morning dew
greets our windowsill
enriched by the sunrise
set by  manifold glows

There is no merriment in our legend
a disparate history obliges,
like dust clouds we succumb
to a threadbare desert caravan.
Once we encountered happiness it outshone
even the azure skies
but recklessly we back slid
into the  vested nothingness.
We sated on Alpha
her eagerness was renown
but the locusts came yonder
and with Bet famished
scorned with the wind.

the nodding snowdrops cannot compete
with the ornamental grass swaying in the wind.
The pathway to the pond is unsteady
its wet ground giving way,
no room for the artist to paint.
The threatened rain has not arrived
whilst  the camelias gives a sad hue
of what should have been

Gumbo the sprat reminds  you he has
no place to go,
away from the night shoals
swimming mid stream,
he dithers if the pier should burn down,
could he bear if the anglers drowned?
yet he's not too axiomatic
knowing right from wrong.
but again theres no pretense
only a presence
swallowing this illusion of depth.

I once held  a clutch of unhappiness,
in a field of corn flowers
as leaves blew cankered with rust,
if only  Autumns white shadows 
would cross the stubble fields
and by the morning light a wondrous hamlet
would be strolled upon
that would be reason enough
to dream into the realms of the possible
reinventing  brightness unbowed.

Your stained life came to fruition,
that frustrated lament
like the wind whistling down a chimney,
you still held your parched desires
to be awaken brick by brick
your opaque eyes mused
a  lost rusted recoil
from where your head used to turn,
down gullies and cul de sacs
until you ran out of retreats,
a pied-à-terre of disrepute
like a dreg sipping sloe gin
your nostrils flaring in the void

a steamed bowl of pak choi with organic rice
and then a multi vitamin
with an acute accent on folic acids
washed down by the strenuous street lights
if life is commotion
a whispered assumption
oils the cogs in our flatshare
unless we typical girls
have failed  to make the grade.

Purveyors say they may return
but have I turned my back on caution
as my star dims
commencement ends in pyres ,
the flames speaks from within this indelible truth,
a manifest has not been written
ill suitability steals around.
Whatever I sought
was the applause from tired hands
as my pen is often too.

All those madmen buying bunches of  flowers
on Valentines Day,
tables double booked at the Restaurant
weekend Brugge chocoholic confession
yet all my cat wants is to be stroked
the gentle purring of the unfazed
overlooking my patio  
and pots of love lies bleeding.

Has it rained in your  heart
and have you buried all of those
drowned kissing frogs?
The saturated coastal trail leds
you  further away.
Yet I recall the days
your postcards were postmarked
Polegate with the best of Sunshine intentions

Paper moons fly by  like chances sped ,
on that dismal day
the rain poured down as ungenerous  confetti
and Jennifer with her until then understanding  smile
opined that she had found Mary simply more interesting,
arguably a plaything for the near future
and like a cat she draw blood again
to preserve her power of severance.

She kept a promise to herself
by sweeping her lair
to  remind herself  work had to be done,
rayon waistcoats and crossing rubicons  
to iron out those industrious imperfections
that had made for her rugged fayre ,
no longer undecided  she'd vanish the dust
from the present
that had slyly thwarted the fullness
of her bond.

Russian black grass and an ornate pattere  garden,
pheasants basking in uncertainty
culpable designs eyeing towards.
Yellow book inclusion,
asks more than the obelisks shadows casting down the acers,
the mia crocus still a red mist
before laying the asphalt driveway.

The original photograph
Daguerre type
ebbing away as though in water,
memories filed like potassium deposits
duotoned  as droplets of likeness
a prophecy of developments awaits

She counted the night away
the neon street lights disappaiting,
sitting on her grandmothers crocheted bed cover
her pink knickers hid her body wide goosebumps,
the froid unheated bedsit
plied with her emotional turmoil,
vexed boyfriend and always tomorrow.

Gently the night finds a spectre,
creeping like a mist
the pale moon's face interlopes
across the face of the deep river,
it's there the souls of the departed
mourns their shallow song
heartfelt yet long gone.

Prayers  inspires and boulders foil,
praise that grows
gives the greatest of inroads.
Under the trailing arches
only the assured prevail,
in platitudes they vouch
the greater gift bestowed.

The ocean has dared the drift wood
to the shore
and waylaid dreams will come
to busily haunt ones memories;
those  eyes that once held your story.

In the pitched tent
the red coated troupe
and yellow buttoned clowns
drown within the spectators  laughter
like cuckoos spit
lost in their swirl
I imagine morris dancers
perfunctory as whirling dervishes
far surpassing  the circus masters revel

If the scoreline between us is not pleasing
there's a door to pass through,
another room to re-count feelings somehow lost.
Its an unwritten fragment in a diary
towards a realised tear
I have tried to hide

Retaining my feelings and personal streamlight
can be  synonymous with a record player
start-stop, and cueing for  movement
but never repeat "repeat".
I could not necessarily afford to  retreat
into a  misplaced  time zone
and face yesterdays despondent pitch.

Down Edgbaston I forgot how to feel.
Perhaps the cumulus clouds
could downsize my anger;
envy would  pulsate into ebony,
under my rubicund smile
inherited from yesterday