She forgot to love
never remembering about the waste.
Her sun red hair would one day
turn to white
In the meantime her yellowing letters
were taped with  bind.
Deftly turning her head
she reminded shackled to the dark,
the invisible string undercutting
her once smile.

A major mistake is to be swayed
by the illusion that moonlight
gives you rays
You think you are the twin sister
of someone equally  famous
but the  leaves still languish
underfoot
like mulch they can offer nothing more
than the suggestion to self flourish
under your own steam

Pale daughters
don't follow their father's orders
or wash behind their ears
laved in white light
they sport a smile when  necessary
compelled by an accidental mischief
detentions of exclusion
rendered in the shade
They wouldn't go dancing on the almost air

I went through the snow and ice,
with sleatting rain,
to become the class of 96.
Without a woman in sight
we were rats in a sinking ship,
made worse by our task master
taking 50% value.

I mute out all sound
Least I treespass on reasons rhyme

I enjoin in the signets call
Least I surround myself with subterfuge

Like a deckled cheeseboard
I hunger for a Silver  lining

Palimpsest on a bright day
I scribe letters already cast

A sackful of ash
and a burning question
I talked to the child within
Fecund blue lights aglow
answered me

I heard the regale in the grass
that danced in the wind
Hiding behind lies
I laughed at the child
feeling misled
I was a stranger in his eyes

Should I dance a promise,
half remembering ones left unsaid.
If for one night I had a banquet,
should I undo those last chances,
dancing on your grave
with slithers of that champagne glass..

I noticed a streak of meaness
Was it culpable by its design?
Was that that made the moon so stubborn?
I needed to blink out of the night
To succumb to the daylight
Precisely as in a dream
Talking in your  dread
Through the cast windows of your mind

The talk of staging funerals
lingers in the cafe,
lost dreams spoke of Terence Stamp
How they loved his singing voice
filed away in Cathy go home.

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

love is a chance
a blissful surrender,
its a happenstance in the park,
in the gaze of the eyes
so hyptonzing,
a whisper and murmur  of the heart.

Lord we have two choices,
judge us not too harshly if we settle for grey,
sometimes a white lie
can save an amanda of fools.

I wish I had a vista of the past
and could still hear the squawking hens
in their Kibbutz hatches
under some 1982 azure sky

I wish I were a hippie
and could permanently hear acetate music from 1967
dressed in kaftan
smoking Moroccan ***
forever  young

If I were to be a poet
id  gap in the missing years
and candy floss the  past
between youngster hood and my  near 60 years

Rain coming for a long time
Changes coming down too soon
I used to run like cobbled stones
Can't seem to carry down the hill
the overlapping branches remain undisturbed

Used to think of Ferris wheels
All neon rides come down,
luminous signposts
Freedoms come a long way down
I need to talk to someone

Every wrong word
said on a mission
startles the receiver.
Every right word
said as a consequence
startles the giver.
I cry alone into the night
figuring what was right

The ant climbs into the straw patch
he feels his armour suffocating.
The clown realises his pathos
after finding none of his compatriots funny.
Oh this string of life
it just got all the more angrier
Yes the very one that loses you in the labyrinth
that falls short for desert island fishing.

A day so happy
Cantonese your smile
give me your daily rice

Remember Autumns action,
a bonfire of flames,
where the overgrown cobwebs of your life
are extinguished to your  conscience

Forget your barriers,
on the cobbled way to your destiny.
Once laden is the now free
freedoms hanker is tomorrow's high.

THE WAYFARER FINDS
HIMSELF, IN DEEP WINTER SNOW.
THE BARRENNESS OF THE COUNTRYSIDE PROVIDES NO COVERING LIGHT.
SCATTERED HUTS ARE IMPOSSIBLY WINDOWLESS
LIKE SOUL'S PREVARIGATING WITHIN
GUARDED SILENCE
A death wish is anything but fun ~
Santa Claus

Earnest is not a surname.
It's a deep rooted feeling
that's vein like
in its underscore.
How many times can it grap you
triffle with your cares;
berate you for thinking sorry,
often for a circumstance not of your own making.
Earnest can't stop one worrying
it prides itself on efficient woe

Chance has begone.
I've got it on my hand,
my jaded palmistry,
knows no better.
The faded story-line
tells the summation was seized

I am a whisper that relays on twine,
a promise
cackling in a stream of gossip

I am your worst dream a harpie,
a reverie that has long played
in some forgotten bordello labelled shame?

Peter used to offer birds
he is no longer a  mouser
Has he tamed himself?
Now he sleeps
on his Masters bed
Has this answered a pray?
Wrapped around his own tranquility

Who are we to judge plants?
a dandelion is only a flower in the wrong place !
Who are we to judge birds?
A pigeon is not a winged rat
it is dispossessed ferternity.
Who are we to judge foxes?
they are land locked creatures of habit.

My E Bay purchase SL D303 sprang to life
( for a few joyous months)
Springs replaced once
and the second time, it died like a swan,
no spare parts!
Soon it burnt into the pocket
Suburban luggage of a layered kind
alongside my vinyl collection
cant always trust dependability

I Hear yet look beyond
a distant spot,
planning for a monologue
where words fail
from an already fall
never of my making.
Blame blame, vanish this spot,
that grows a crater
where eventual discontememt
scales the laddered escape.

Gerry dances the lights till dawn
beneath Blackpool illuminati
He didn't feel this way before
until he had a proactive in good time

the day is as long as you are tall.
the sound of positive encouragement
is never remiss.

Cats are our friends,
they're a gift from ancient Egypt
and when they offer you a mouse
accept it with due diligence.
It's their hail from Atum Ra's moment.
They are intelligently dexterous
yet determined.
I like the tuxedo variety,
akin to the best suited James Bond,
service with an  indelible  smurf
all 009 lives of them.

There was a song
such a beautiful one
that we danced to
when we were young,
but now we are older
we listen to the gentle nightingale
that way I see you as young

I am planting myself
between eternal hope
and eventual discord

Just some grey occurrence
reflecting the rue of life

The middle way between
the light of day
and the shimmering night.

What a query we have in the night
Its illuminated stare
leaves us more uncertain
The silence of a million stars pervades

Gazing into melancholy melon skies
that I weaved,
Blindly searching for the shadow of wisdom
Blue is the color of cornfields
its truth so probable
Please don't turn on your back on me
and parry me away
shine on your earnestness
Thinking back to yesterday
may help us find the now

The King's lost smile is complete
He needs his leige
And the serfs laugh
At this stupid plan

I am on my own sail
Sunny due a different way
And the child within me
Paints a pastoral day

Before you go trust in me,
follow the warm Autumn fade.
Watch the geese to their journeys end.
Warry words I will not speak.
I shall return and talk of love.
Our story is yet to be told.

I  am mirth,merriment
you are the solemn sackcloth of
misery

Jimmu is walking dejectedly
he gazes at your smile
and makes amends to the sky

Think  again and contemplate what will happen to my friends who are staying over for the next day or so.

The only thing that you should get involved with is issues with yourself


Nothing's worse than being a bossy Manchester girl trying to move in
trying to steal my friends.
We have enough problems
without a home grown rash.

Indian Summer
see the seasons change
Autumnal leaves murmur
In my palm
your fingers stare
with messages no words can convey
Indian Summer
silence fills the void

Have it your own way
fragment by fragment
our journey disappears
I see  no reason
for our parting

The indigenous Alcantara explodes across
the garden floor, unwanted and unloved.
Rosehips are nipped
to give extra nourishment to the rose bush.
The blossoming pink Tree Mallows will last to January,
until then they are left alone.
Brambles are cut at their base
excising their climber roots,
nor forgetting the unheralded demoisturising Ivy.
My Cleparata Eremurus tubers
are gently put into the ground.

The horse has bolted
Day is night
Memories flight to County Carlow
whilst he lives in London SE27
A hard rain is about to fall
when he calls me John
and forgets to feed his cats

Silence falls softly in these hours
Oft I wish I were a vampire
Between the void and hereafter

Night unfolds into the ether
And the siren sings her woeful song

What use is this solitude it endures
and whispers tales to surmount

Darkness this is the moment
Of plaintiff protestations  unfolding

At night Georg pangs blue whisper
for the lonely boy's return ,
with a red cloak worn to sunset.
Crimson for the harlots shadow,
and narcassis for the loss of innocence.

They tried to crush me with boulders
until they built a misshapen temple
to mark my tears,
they tried to chase me with words
until I lexiongrapher
had the last word.

Right-wing Boris conspiracies awry
they tried to lynch Starmer
The Woke are fighting back
No ancien monuments for us.
Meanwhile, Tenants fight council mold
of long-neglected council dwellings
Our Saviours have been returned
sealed unopened,
on a sunken ship, inflation at a generational 5.5%
Gas cap in April at 7.1%
February days
Evergreen Russia on the reconnaissance
War in Europe
What have we learned

If  I  spoke in a French accent
and cortesied before tea,
would you try to kiss me?
If I  said non,
would you bluff your conduct
and say I'm just your  hearty Anglo Saxon,
trying to win over the old enemy.
If you so much thought that,
I'd hit you so hard,
that it could only be a crime of passion
burying you ever so neatly in ancien Crowhurst

That Prakita annual from 1975,
trying so hard to make me feel
they could produce Britt Ekland
in every page.
But I recall the life cycle of Cameras
remember Miranda
not many  do ,
but I'm told she had a unique mount.
But again I'm no looker
just a resolute plain rangefinder 
running through the generations

Could we ever communicate again?
when you said you didnt like
"Come to Me"
the orchestration was annoying!
Is it my place to say
you cannot love the sky
and yourself at the same time!
Perhaps you've changed
are you bothered by coolness
So you tough it out?

under the halogen light
a spy for another's love is reticient
he knows not what her fate will be
like so many before
His salted tears stains his cheeks,
his nemesis espied his fear
in the house of thwarted love
all is not fair
perfectly voiceless
divorce is the imminent option now

Incorrigible unwilling  to change,
i say tomatoe you say tomato.
Welcome to the blues.
You say go for broke
I say stay frugal.
You say BMW
i say 2nd hand?
different strokes for different  folk.

Munchies are not nice when
they stick to the pallet
The  cat dived under the pallor of the moon and a car had to swerve to avoid him.
A Miss Jones gave her heart  away
to the first local parishioner
who walked her down the aisle.

Northern boys are strong and tender
By the campsite they regale stories
of their forebearers hunting Caribou and Reindeer
Adroit with knifes
high raised
I love you
A clover for a bed what a Quelle surprise
telling you their secrets
as vert as the hills
and marigold as the future