The boy pressed his palm on the glass,

It seemed warm against the hand of his father,

Who stood on the platform,

Looking at the face of his son,

Perhaps for the last time.

Be well! he shouted

Look after mama!

His son called back but he heard no words,

But understood as thin arms crossed a chest,

Heaving with sobs.

The man could not bear to think

He would never hold that small body again,

Never lift it onto his shoulders

Never see it grow.

His pretence of bravery,

Conjured by his smile,

Deserted him as the train lurched forward,

Then stopped cruelly,

Revealing the desperation in his heart.

He swallowed his tears

And shouted again,

Goodbye my boy!

There was no respite this time,

The carriage accelerated away,

Taking his son to a new life,

A new history.

Oh, The Snows of Kilimanjaro
What do they mean to you and me?
I asked a man passing by my house
As I leaned against a tree

A novel by Hemingway he responded
A book I have never read
But maybe one I shall pick up
And read before I am dead

But, you sir, he countered
What do the snows mean to you?
I hesitated before giving my answer
That we, all of us, live in a zoo

How is that? he enquired with interest
Are we not free go where we please?
No it means that we are imprisoned
They have thrown away the keys

We have free will the wise men say
But, in truth, that is not so
We cannot exercise it
With our feet stuck in the snow

If you know all this said the man
Why do you interrogate me?
Because, I replied, I must know if I am correct
Before I have my tea.

There is a small cupboard beside my bed
It is called William.
That was a joke
It s called a bedside cabinet.
It has a brass handle on the drawer
The drawer is central to this poem
Because of what it contains
Without its contents it would merely be a drawer
Now you want to know what the drawer contains don’t you?
No?
Well I shall tell you anyway
Inside the drawer is a metal nail, some toothpicks, some pills
A pair of ear plugs and a small piece of toilet tissue
Or lavatory paper as my mother would prefer to call it.
The paper or tissue doesn’t mind what you call it – it is simply a tissue
It has no mind no feelings
Let‘s not waste our time speculating about the offence caused to a piece of tissue,
Alright paper  
But going back to my point about the contents of the drawer being central to this poem
Why is that so?
I could make it easy for you but why not work it out yourself?
Think about it
A metal nail.
Toothpicks
Pills
Ear plugs
Toilet tissue
Alright, mum
Lavatory paper.
What do these tell you?
ABSOLUTE **** ALL

Wow,
Just streaming
Through these old, old chinks
In the wall,
Like some forgotten sun,
Black and blue outside,
On the edge, in.
Your eyes slipping,
My eyes cornered,
Trying to flow freely,
Taking threads, for now,
From yesterday,
Swimming in a pool of time and words,
Don’t say it,
Don’t day it,
Don’t say ‘I love you’.
Don’t say it
And maybe I will too,
Sitting in the middle of
Nowhere,
Waiting for a ride,
On some passing theme,
To be carried a little further away,
Painting,
Painting all earth blue,
Filtering over closed eyes,
Looking far ahead.

I really don’t know where I am,
It is hard to believe
There is not a solid thought in my head,
Every one of them crumbles away,
A million and one possibilities,
All as potentially real as the other,
Although,
There is one that I know -
That you are beautiful and,
If you love me,
It will all be ok.

I want to go back
I want to hold you in my arms
I want to hug you into my body
I want to kiss you on the hips
I want to whisper in your ear
I want to feel the curve of your back
I want to touch your eyelids
I wan to kiss your neck
I want to hold your breast in my hand
I want to stroke the inside of your elbow
I want to tickle the inside of your knee
I want to love you like I used to
I’m fed up with now
I want then
Not now and then
But always

You cried.
I did not want to hurt you
But I wanted you to cry.
I left you alone to wipe away the tears.
Otherwise,
I would have kissed them away.

When you returned to the room,
You seemed lost,
Searching for the lost thing
Or a thing to replace the lost thing
Why?
You hugged me
I did not want to hurt anyone
But I wanted you to hug me
I felt your body in my arms
The strap of your bra
So many times I looked at your lips

But I am not the man I was -
I am me.
I had pull myself out of a deep pool
A pool of despondency
A pool of emptiness
A pool of Loneliness.
Have you been there?

I like the sensation of communication
From different parts of the train
We text only a few times
But we meet on the platform as old friends.
Once we arrive at the house,
You take off your coat
To reveal a dress which swings and sways
As you sway and you swing.
We talk about our lives;
I do not feel that I reveal any secrets,
Nor discover any.
It is refreshing this advent;
We just want to play,
Maybe we will,
Maybe we won’t.
Who cares?
Not you,
Not I,
Not us.