Said the Trapeze artist to the Ant Hill dweller.
I besmirch your insignifance,
for I am a mighty gust
a body floating celestial,
can stampede you unwillingness
to move.
Teasing your respone,
somehow making you prone.
To meet whatever Father you have?

"Steep steps for a cafe"
said arthritic Lucy.
"The **** rain plays it up".
Her husband brought the tea
and 4 slices of bread
to feed to the sea gulls.

Its all my body needs
growing old,
going bald and with
Elevated Liver Enzymes
Like an old soldier
I picked up analog photography
and took pictures of the trees and landscapes
which brought joy to my soul


I have been occasionally offered seats on the bus
and for brisk walks always come last

I have a croissant and flat white each morning
but find the cafe too popular now
and vicariously listen to 70s music
as if I were someone else

over the hill there's a shinning,
taking me from the darkness of the night.
Get yourself together
and see what you can find,
champagne toast
when I'm out of town,
golden daffodils hanging down.

Gone are the days we spoke truth
by the river bank.
All your promises were never meant,
and I lament your sudden change
oh you siren;
a wind of remiss.

never let a memory be shed,
or a teardrop be tattooed on your face
bright things comes to those that wait.

I have set the
length of the sun
with my prevailing smile,
push me up like daisies.
I'm a fly in the ointment
of your purposeful gambit
I hear your marching song
a Panzer in every garage
you murmur my defeat
a banner at an altar
of fascism
my diesel engine headache grows
der Motor wird gewinnen
a wildebeest is in my cupboard

when our streets  are green again
the most natural thing you'd like to see
was Mr Fox invited to no 10 for tea
and hedgehogs drinking from
pristine watering holes
and the otter swimming canal upstream
Then we grow on love

Green is the hollow wind calling
whose myriad leaves have rotted down
It's the tiptoe through the woods
that persists the foraging trail
Green is the high hills
that concedes the end of the journey

Green is the color from your window
the catalyst to your path
the sheet you dream upon
unwishing time and longitude
that you fled from me

Eyes are my eyes
very soon you will come back
shifting plume
your path backtracking
comes to our betwixt

Listen to the fallen,
gusts of wind
every one of them.
Once bright buttons
who hid their fear.
Now listen to the burgle
blowing the carrion call.
A dance with death
caught them unawares.
Rows and Rows of poppies
bloom alongside the scared land
this sulphur stretch
a magician once  dreamed of.

Fortune hasn't prevailed, Blue Sunday
The Moon was made of Green  cheese
The Morning  once blew westwardly

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

I want to be a shooting star before my time
Someone has to retire early from the humam race
but what would I do
ask for spent coffee granules
to grew my indoor tomatoes?
I cannot imagine venturing outdoors
too often
even to the Library
by the time i take early retirememt
i be alongside the new indigenous
without recourse to manners
let alone community
My area's already going down hill
the cascade of relocating central London  already set in motion.

Under the lustre  Moon
gazes are barbed,
do I really know you now?
At times your trumpet
plays for the days forlorn.
Yet  your ruinous music
is  confusingly staccato,
others piodiums always knew more,
my confession nonetheless
the adverbial cow will land  
somewhere close I  hope
to feel your clasp chancre

how can your justify yourself
when there isn't a heaven up there
be on your careful watch

i'm the dancer in the cool winter blue
with a smile that travels 20 yards,
i snare the ****** with a gaze
because i'm nobodies captive.

I'm lost in the helter skelter,
with wayward glances shooting at me.
My stomach is in knots
this is the power of love.

i like to kick the autumn leaves
they crample neath my shoes
as i take a drag on my Marlboro lite.
I'm that brazen girl with a with beige jacket
and fanfair of lovers names unrequited.

After much thought who cares
if Hendrix kissed the sky
or the madman ran through the fields
I's rather be moving on with Arthur Alexander
with Georgia on my mind
Then I shed a tear that the beat boom
ended the endearing early sixties pop,
where men From Dartford took reworkings of the blues,
refashioning Satisfaction as a paean.

The Beatles with their diminutive Yeah Yeah
Do you call that music ?
I surely miss Cathy's Clown
more than their Price of Love

the war sky turns red
its time for cranking up
this disappearing act again

i am winter
you are the stars
we trek across the hinterlands
wherever we go

In April somewhere where
sunbeams and Carousels glisten.
He was happy to share in the clover.
The sun was pouring
by way of a morning breeze,
and his plate was full
belly up he floated,
in the shallow water,
where the moon wanders.
His dreams lay sheltered,
against the cove
in the body of another.

Hollow Moon
beyond the pale horizon
languishing over Moorhouse ridge
Comes the callous wind,
endure your times journeying.
Fetch and carry your burdens
Along the lonely edges of the woods,
from this hidden place of yours.

I could say hollyhocks are a firmament
their palmate leaves abound.
From  my shuttered room with a single bed
and ginger-cat for company.
in a letter, I could  say I love you
with your cuisses pommelées
and shoulders held back,
walking in the snow
on a cold winter's night.
Hollyhocks I've been jealous
over certain girls  who parley  in French
the words of l' amour.

All those  Moorhens  I want to befriend
for 50 p worth of grain.
Before  long  the settimg Sun will  smile
at this speck of  kindness
Hadn't we all heard it  before
kindness  begets  sincerity.
By the  night, if I stayed out long enough
all and  sundry would  be gliding,
planning  an extra gift for  those  moorhens

Down Sidcup they are planning mind games
without a safety net
We are hot desking
whilst under a railroad strike
We are going the long way to work
London Bridge is being redeveloped
The tension is brewing like a bout of typhoid
We are being punished for events
outside our control.
Its the survival of the fittest
the most local win
But some of us are tadpoles
out of our depth

Down Sidcup, they are planning mind games
without a safety net for me
We are hot desking
during  a railroad strike
and have a muddling southeastern rail service to boot!
We are going the long way to work
London Bridge is being redeveloped
The tension is brewing like a bout of cholera
We are being punished for events
outside our control.
Its the survival of the fittest
the most local win
But some of us are tadpoles
out of our depth

judge not the winner
respect whomever advises you
find a salvo to overshot your neighbours Leylandii,
spill not an undeserved droplet of  blood.

I dragged the sleep from my eyes
and half let the spirit of the Lunar God prevail
Yet we are too grown to believe in the unfathomable
of crumpled carnations and starched liked motions

The feted lover's recompense is almost due
The next time it may snow
with my cardboard suitcase
of self-willed bluster

I am moonlight
You are sunlight
I am pale,
murmuring low
You are bronzed
with a glow

if azure skies were  for clean people
and clean people were for the Queen
the Queen was for Empire
with the Empire being gold.
Gold for the minions
and minions for the saints
what a convoluted world it would be.

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.

If you don't use it
you lose it
Tempus Fugit how time
unsettles the best of intentions
Words are just that
a matter of jumbled indiscretions,
nothing grows here anymore
belief is a series of restrictions
that's a closed-door
from your point of view

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.

If I were you
and you were me ,
would you make as much sense
as I made of you?
If aye was nay  
what a convoluted situation
it would be.

im in heaven
with my black bread and chichory coffee.
All i need are monkey nuts
it takes a man to know his worth.

Eyes interlocked,
like a M1 car crash
this is the effect you have on me.
Your hips are perfect like a
manquerin,
your moustache like a cad,
but any bad boy behaviour
could lead to a discipline.

I wish I were a vehement wind,
lofting your hopes away,
tussling your identity under bed linen,
with their origins abruptly shelved

I wish I could torment you,
along a long path,
painting you a long frown,
under the glare of an expectant lunar surge.

First and last,
don't push me around.
I may have lost my skint.
Caught taking aripiprazole.
My miracles of dimension in recess.
I waved goodbye to all that,
taking my logic for a ride.

All hail the hearty King.
A tyrant in the making.
A wisp of smoke
all driving small.

I espied a monster
and by the bay of the tree, it was me.
Venoms skin, like a delicate leaf
laughed and shook my hand.

I'm the girl with a yellow mac
and red stockings.
When it's autumnal,
I kick the weathered leaves
and stand neath the boughs,
whispering to the impending season
i stand alone and need no one else.

Aliens dressed as Americans
eating Wigwams for thanksgiving
and celebrating General  Custer
with their custard

Could have been a contender
through the schemes,
I have dreamed upon,
gardens of poppies
nighttime  shade
against the moonshine.

Hold on to my pensiveness,
open my eyes
forget the time!
Night time changes
before the dawn,
anonymous again
The sky is grey
elbows on dry books, we dreamed

nows the time for askance
asking her in good time
understanding the wherewithal

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.

Franca  built her Fulham EMpire
selling her vintage clothes
This old poet is infatuated
with my very own Saint Assisi
Whilst chain smoking
she's
thinking about the goodness in others
Professing rarefied wisdom
She's a Scrumptious friend.
when  the internet
attends her company

Dancing faces in a crowd
but it had to be you
cuddling the light from dark
affording serenity
(chase a star catch a cloud)
We are everything positive
because we are in the making
Fulham Queenie
cast your shawl
winning her bid
for a Croydonite
no more uncertainties

In the cool of Indian summer,
in the country of leaves,
lit mildew and cobwebs
on the verge,
bespoke sandals on the lane.

Remember who your best friend was?
Now he lies refused
deckled like a bird.
The pages blew, out of proportion.
The broken year will not change,
the kiss of the bright curl of the leaves,
and where was your second chance?

I count the stones on my burial mound
Pursing  my hushed lips
not to convey a sound,
cave in my ill-spent wishes.

Tardy in time
fly like the swallow.
Lord it feels
like I am walking in liquid lead

Tepid was the night
The dreams came back,
slanting fast from the ***** of the emergent sun to the black pool

Bronzed sun over the hill
Fieldfare flying South
The cartwheels stasis speaks to us
even now
as light steals itself over into
the steps into the sea
How could we not have
noticed this before?