a crow
struggling
against something unseen
tries to fly
only to be forced
backwards
further from its goal
with every attempt

it will never realise
it was better off
beforehand
there is no regret
it will simply
keep trying
again
and again
until it succeeds

never thought
i'd be jealous
of
a crow

there was a time
when my truth could be told
perfect
i thought
"say it
now
this will be beautiful
your bluebird will be free"

but
never trusting myself
i waited
too long
swallowed the key
silenced the song

the moment
gone
just like you

the truth
unspoken
my burden
remains

supposedly a mature
well-put-together
functioning adult
who has travelled
both up and
down escalators
     of all sizes
countless times
throughout his life
there will always be
a fleeting moment
a child-like panic
as he shuffles onto
the grinning maw
of those toothy steps
still experiencing
that lingering
sense of unease
he would get
while younger
climbing or descending
dragged along
by driven parents
or rushing onwards
to keep pace with
assured friends

in that split second
before sole
and metal conjoin
overwhelmed by
the constant shifting
of this unwelcoming
corrugated tread
with calculations of
when and where
to place his feet
in time with
the ever-moving
conveyor of steps
frozen momentarily
with the thought
that he might
miss his footing
trip and fall
even though
deep down he knows
he has managed this
innumerable
times before

I have
nothing
but time
and
an apparent
lack of decision

did I take
the road less travelled
or
was it merely
the easiest route?

in this moment
while the sun enriches
i sit back
with my feet on the table
the great american novel
in my hand
pages whispering
as they turn

eventually
understanding their message
i close the book
lay it aside
turn my face to the sun
and listen;
birds drift and chirp
a breeze soothes all that is crosses
the trees and mountains alike
all remains unchanged
since well before my time

surrounded like this
there is nothing to do
but marvel
with time to just sit
and be;
there is nothing better

i used to think
i could conquer
anybody
anything

nothing out of reach
unobtainable;
nonsense

but no

mistakes
failings
resentments
regrets

heartbroken

         ­                   forgotten

                                   ­                left behind

now
all it takes
to break me
is
a beautiful pair of eyes
looking
the other direction

it seems that
unfortunately
someone
is always at fault

these
           days
they
                sleep
without
                 touching

we might set out
each time with
a specific place
in our minds
only one destination
and one ideal route
but i can't remember
the last time
we managed
to complete one
of these journeys
without detouring
stopping somewhere
briefly to explore
what we otherwise
might have missed

although sometimes
forced on us
through circumstance
or on others
chosen for the sake
of passing whimsy
we will always be happy
going out of our way
finding something
to marvel at
to appreciate
and be remembered
along the way

at one point
ranks of flowers
lined the garden;
none of which
i could name
nor did i care
to learn

but at full bloom
staring into that kaleidoscope
those colours and the shapes;
there was catharsis

looking now
the garden is
a palette smeared
a spectrum of brown;
         brownish yellow
   greeny brown
      brown on
        slightly darker brown

the dog maintains eye contact
while defecating
on the flower beds;
and this is also
strangely cathartic

this rope
should not be pulled
from opposite ends
in opposite directions

what once was straight
is now
a tangled knot;
no direction
can be discerned

my white-knuckled grip
must be relaxed
if
this mess
is to be
made straight

the thing is
you never know
if
you'll be
smiling
or cursing

at least for now
i'm smiling

let's be honest;
there will probably
still
be sunshine
when
          she's
                   gone

there is no beauty
in freshly fallen snow
it is all a lie
it may appear
unblemished
immaculate
innocent
but takes little
to disturb
the perfection

this is a version
of what could be
but is only temporary
and cannot last;
as we strive
to live with it
our every action
spoils the purity
unveils the flaws
leaves us regretting
what we once tolerated
when we have glimpsed
an unobtainable beauty

he got caught
in a downpour
on what seemed like
the sunniest of days
when he stopped
for a coffee
he didn't really need
and hadn't noticed
the sky's shifting grey
he would have been
home long before
the storm came
if he had kept walking
but the torrent
began so suddenly

one of those where
the raindrops
feel enormous
every impact
an undeserved
or unwelcome
pat on the back
with neither
umbrella or coat
he found cover in
a sheltered alley
between two buildings
and begrudgingly
chose to wait

two buoyant women
elderly but clearly
not showing their age
scampered playfully
into his refuge
their umbrellas
forgotten for now
while their mood
somehow remained
remarkably well disposed
even though
those webs of nylon
had protected only
heads and shoulders
while their lower halves
had become saturated
they seemed not to care
greeting him with a grin
they chatted and gestured
and laughed

he would have no idea
what their story was
where they were going
or coming from
but in those moments
sheltering amidst
their joie-de-vivre
his frustration was
dampened
             ironically
and with a smile
that would last
his entire walk home
he stepped out into
the ongoing deluge

what started so promisingly
has been torn apart
again;
the oblivious
and the abstruse
contribute nothing
but silence.

we are the void
all is numbness
and nothing else

perhaps
a sudden
flash of movement
as they pace
back and forth
or
a glimpse
of
a head
           a shoulder
                           an arm
as they bend
to their food
it's quite common
to see them
from behind
while their attention
is focused on something
bright
and colourful

it is not always possible
to see the inhabitants
of each enclosure
but
rest assured
they are in there
somewhere

may i suggest returning
at 8 o'clock on Thursday?

camping with
the dog
i sit out
eating breakfast
in the early
morning light
a faint whispering
of elements
crosses the field
a gentle touch
at the back of
my neck
before i notice
the slightest
      softest
of drizzles;
a dampened dappling
of pages
the slightest rippling
on the surface
of my morning tea
looking up
the wisps
of cloud
overhead
remain bright
and airy
but a dark horizon
promises brevity
to this

perhaps
that charcoal smudge
of nimbostratus
passed by
during the night
they didn't forecast
any rain
until tomorrow
after all
i am content
ignoring
   the warning signs
enjoying
the dog's snore
the flutter of tent
the dance
of grass
of insect
and of bird
and continuing
without change
while the dog
sleeps
at my side

no matter
what is built
or
what grows;
there is always
the fear
that foundations were laid
in
    shifting
                  sands
that roots
are rife with decay

i've suffered my fair share
i don't doubt
that you have too
yet
somehow
in spite of this
the walls
are still standing
the flowers
still bloom

maybe
its not as bad
as we thought

sometimes
the moon elopes
the night
showing her face
during daylight hours
hanging listlessly
seemingly
without purpose
sisyphean
a ghostly pallor
lingering
at the peripheries
of vista
and vision
impotent
as we go on
with our day
a reminder
haunting us
with second guesses
of that which
we thought resolved
the night before
try as she might
her powers
will wane
in this dominion
of sun
and that which
she felt need
to illuminate
will no longer
be seen

an artist
seeking a challenge
a true test of skill
will wait
for the storm to come
before putting brush
to canvas;
the seas
     in uproar
the morning light
     veiled by darkening clouds
the fury
     of the gods
will be cherished

there seems little point
in telling a story
where all is calm
in order
unmarred;
for fear
that all would feel
flat
     vapid
               lifeless

this gallery of tempests
does not signify
never having seen
the beauty of
the sun
resting upon
a peaceful shore;
the fear
is simply that
any attempts
to recreate such moments
might diminish
their worth

sometimes
it doesn't matter
how beautiful
the birdsong

sometimes
all you want
is
to sleep

from a distance
the three elderly ladies
shuffling through the park
seemed to be struggling
along the uneven path
with knock-kneed
and limping gait
one leant on a cane
while the other leant
on the arm of the third
behind this head-scarved crutch
drags a floral trolley
if not William Morris
a pattern very similar
to Strawberry Thief
the leaves of
a cheese plant
sticking out from
its open-mouthed top
each of the trio
wears a cardigan
wrapped tightly
against this changeable
spring-time breeze
as they pass by
it becomes clear
though their journey
might be harder
than it once was
they will chatter
and cackle
grin and wink
with each step
along the way