Down forlorn cafe this sweet latino chick
always serves  me with a smile
I underlie it with an order of chicken noodles
One for me and now invisible friend

When I look out of my window
(I see a sorry cat)
and I know Ive been heard
its verdant outside
flanked by the Sun
The urge to do good is overwhelming
I postulate who needs help?
(circles in the sand)
The liberation of dreams
brings you back

Let the people decide on the dance,
not your midnight one
but the midday one
the sleep through the work day type.
Where on auto we can forget
about our neighbourhoods.
You know the ones
bad mannered mothers in league
with prams, a public menance
or their soon to be feral children
who never amount to doctors
just random statistics
where more was hoped for.

I was around when someone shouted "Judas"
to Dylan for going electric.
I was the ink in Paul Simons North of England sound of silence.
I was the muse for David's  "Space Oddity"  all those pink  moons ago.

I will be your clown
if you want me to
walk the edge of the oblivion for you
(Snowman in Wintertime)
I will be the best friend you had
A Homefire crackles
and I sing you a nursery rhyme
I mean your gratitude

with love jaded,
bright young things should enjoin
the gossamer quilt of another day.
fortitude should follow,
daybreak may forbid you,
but you come hither
on a given day.

Struggling clumpy hydrangeas
unkept by design
Daffodils, appearing like clockwork
verte, emergent storks by decree

they don't care about you or I
not even knowing their neighbors
or own dog
all they want is a strawberry wine
and raspberry jello
they don't even like a stew
but I'm going to find me
a lady
whose is risk-averse
to a protein  stew
And I be her bull
with a string of biltong
between my tail.

Before she died she
would retreat into the bedroom
for her brittle bone health
to be undetected
When the moment came
she was likened to an elderly on terminal
There were butterfly kisses
before the dispatched silence

Jen, I want to support your platitudes!
your mediation renders,
no troubles from you
no goading, within your star
kindness fashions your heart.

Jenny, we are old  friends
and at a drop of a hat
I run to the end of the world for you
The Vet has again performed miracles
shinny and new
shop new,
you are the Lazarus of the cat world

Keep the faith and  don't lose heart
don't let old age tarry you
I should see more of you

The morning brings the moths
her cupboard bare,
she attempts to prise the day
what to wear?
snatching thoughts all is  balance
nasturtiums or foxgloves,
crumbling trellis stakes
she wraps a blanket around herself
and sits in the garden , guarding motionless

Joanne is wary
the seashells once listened
now no longer confide her secrets
the flickering candle has already cast
her life line
night times tides have peaked
the easiest of passages are lost
and as much as you meander
rest assured the reason
will one day untangle you

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.

The boy has caught me early spring
by the fireside we sojourn
Ain't got no hired limousine
no imagination for the road
The boy caught me singing
harmoniously undercover
Handsome  brown eyes
will reappraise me yet
Like a fiery fire
I'm going down big easily.
Got love to share
and an abundance of hope
Come and see me
like a bird in my tree
at my place

Monday's feeling exemplified
the collection is on Wednesday,
specifically black bins
to usher away all that  feels  like  dirt.
Yesterday's  postcards of  Paris
and torn landing cards.
You've  stopped  dreaming of escapades
no azure skies,
just  improbable  matchsticks
keeping  the  eyelids  open
soaking  up  the  winter  in London

Josephine will bake for you
and iron your clothes,
but never call her fancy free
for she has much love for you.
Build her dreams by making
her a greenhouse ,
where she can grow her asters
and think of the stars,
glistening so brightly
for someone so natural.

if I were you
what  thoughts would pervade
enjoining on a journey

High in the sky.
London chimes.
Postcode lottery
Knife crime assures.
Still the Eagle soars,
over Streets with no names
Combustible cladding awaiting.

Hose pipe bans beckons.
A capricious late summer.
Rosemary twigs for sale.
See the gypsies staid,
against the Victoria tube exit.

Harlequins have fated feelings
on the trapped excess of desire
fire the shot!
to wing a pray
and asunder to Caesar his scarlet remnants
Words on the scale!
Past King's emblems
shimmer way past
and  the subterfuge of romance
learns the price of nails
Judgment smeared by decree
a child's mystifyingly  cries

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.

touching your hand
is as near to heaven
I could wish for

What has this day
promised ?
that I shall call good,
it is neither primrose or succulent
perhaps its cloaked in a thick skin
an unmerited fist,
alas -
simple turns from  fortune.

Say I was wise and different
who has three German penfriends
who only wrote in English
We write about photography,
be sent photocopies of Black and White montages.

I  own about  30 Cameras
cursed not to be photographic each day
searching on meetup for courses
Someone suggested West Brompton  cemetery
Tried Macro photography
Bon Soir to Landscape
I'm on the verge of a buttercup
prosaic in my newfound world

even the wind chases down her cause,
sequestering at her leisure
Joanne seeks memories
beyond her highgate bedsit
she dreams of tenderness
but could never quite divulge
where it's journey ended
She thought the breeze could carry her defences
Only now, she concedes.

She climbed the waterline
upward and appearing
just for the occasion,
day after day
kidding herself when it doesn't
matter anymore
be careful of the stitches
on attention
to let go of the relentlessness
awry of the persuaders

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

Buxom Alice dug her heels
into the soft yielding sands
at her craggy shack
she pulls apart dragonflies wings
Intent as a Man-Eater in the making
The scurrying Dormice exasperated

Lady Marshmallow
in her thatch hut
scoffs at convention,
she remembers her past lovers,
and with her wax candle
she offers prized thoughts
for their spirits,
with her calico cat Emerald.

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

lavinia will walk through the dizzling rain,
to the artists colony this morning,
instinctively in and out of clothes
a bug in the bold long grass.

Upon leaving without her raincoat
she'll make a perfunctory impression,
nonchalant in cherry lipstick
blotted in another's dreams.

Meanness is a stinging nettle
a bare knees child cannot escape,
cry dock leaf.
The  mother of necessity
should  from now on
outlast purpose.

In the morning will you still
remember her name ?
Though she had smiled,
not unlike the thoughts you left behind,
it was never for you.
Button up the realisation,
you were not meant to be company.
Only the fragment of night can alter change.
Being alone is sadder by the day
it shudders then echoes,
even the white of  your  eyes
are listless.

In January you're planning September
for your orchestra with your Son Peter
You are reddened by warmth
creating sounds
Whereas I am with my poetry
pushing the boundaries
reading yesteryears accentuation
sharing my craft
You're clearing an audible path
from another world
pouring light into your notes

In January you're planning a September recital
for your orchestra with your Son Peter.
You are reddened by the warmth,
creating sounds.
Whereas I am with my poetry
pushing the boundaries,
reading yesteryears accentuation,
shifting my craft.
You’ve liked my pastoral poems,
I await your sonic bites.
You're clearing an audible path
from another world,
pouring light into your notes.

Ochre over gold
I've lied for you
Become a Bedouin wanderer for you
The fitfulness of cloud cover
The open sun illuminating
the downcast

The sap of lies
wells up like compressed putty
I am late
languid late
I try to cover for you
palely and familial
I am fated by you

I've seen galaxies through a telescope
I've got an eye for detail
In the margins I write the occasional note
about the origins of time

Seeing forgets the sight
a kiss as short as a blink
Time as yet  to heal
the direct approach
being the best

As Hellebores are to early spring
so was my urge to breathe a rare love.
To Sandwich we would inspire
lost in the Salutation gardens,
following the symmetry of leading lines,
flower beds at their most resplendent,
that we could sense
matching our feetlings
by April at the earliest.

I heard the wind dancers surge,
before the silence between
the leaves,
shuffling forward,
one foot into the darkness.

I wished for the  trail of bright Ferris wheels
before becoming something better
The blackbirds sang on the shores
I then became the roots and stems
searching  for a blossom of light

She touches the ground to undo her pain
yet never the wanton Earth Mother,
having shed her tears like brushwood,
sweeping perceptions source.
Never the prophetess
self preservation is tying enough.
The moonlight runs countenance
never in congress
with those ethereal spirits
who have lain in wait, now fade
after-all its a truer life being  you.

You curl around me like a spring.
A Lighting lead,
no words to express.
Opulent blue-eyed
come on down to my place?
don't be fancy
I try to agree,
furtive as ever
all I want is to cry?

If your fingers grew tied
in  rhubarb dye,
home becomes such a refuge.
Like the moon going down the alcove,
a woman suffocates
in the blazing  kitchen.
Homesick in London
marigolds are restful,
let's bury all our desires,
neither have emotions or conflicts,
in the confines of  surreality.

Lilly is different from other girls
her black cat
has something of the night
Lilly doesnt care about her figure
shes size 10 and knows no better
as for dates she rather eat one

Do you still hope for your school days
when a smoke was just for laughs
and sweet heart  pledges were written in chalk
and picket fences kept the sheep
away from the cabbage patch the teachers carefully planted

Can we find a central meeting place?
How's Reg, bet the doctor's haven't told him his got the big C,
leastways with the fog he won't  find his tumour when lost.
A pint of mild and bitter mate
down Portland Steeet.
Heard Adriennes black dress is a stunner.
Ask her out to the flicks, maybe Doctor in Love?
"Not if it gives her any  ideas
Walking down the aisle is too like the
black out, remember".

London should be a no go zone
it should be boarded up
feed it to the Zombies,
the final act of a virology department,
Don't ever start again
plug up the Thames
turn the whole place into a desert
allow the foxes to be unfazed
attack attack feral humans

Lord our peacemaker
teach us eternal light,
to breathe your wonders,
enriches our heart.

My name is Michael O'Brien.
I live in the woods,
with squirrels for my only company.
I've got no need for anyone,
im a crusader for loneliness
although im not the only one.
There's Peter ORaugherty,
who lives in a cave
with rabid bats only for company.

I am early morning
you are the aurora
together we easel a wondrous sight.
I am the evening
you are the dusk,
cossetting each other
in our urbane delight.

when Jackie loved Jimmy
they played a neat sound together