I will always be your friend
but that will never be enough
at times it makes things hard
at times it makes things tough

you see I want to share my life with you
and know you inside out
of that you can be certain
of that there is no doubt

I listen to you purge your soul
of all that went before
and long for you to realise
I'm standing at your door

It breaks my heart to hear you
tell another tale of woe
of disappointed failures
tween you and your latest beau

It hurts me just to be your friend
but that whats true friends do
Sacrificing my own happiness
so I am there for you

After all you're there for me
when things get a little rough
for you will always be my friend
and that will never be enough

I think, at least some of us, fall in love instantly without even knowing it. And the time between then and the point where we actually admit it to ourselves, is more about acceptance, either social or personal, of how long it should take to "get there".

How else would you explain that once you know you're in love with someone its almost impossible to remember a time when you weren't in love with them.

The downside of this theory is that should things not work out, its so ******* ******* hard to get back to a time before, a time when you weren't in love with them.

And maybe we never do. Maybe we never fully recover.

Initially it's the immediate changes that carry the most pain. No morning greetings on your phone, no shared nonsense during the day, the kind of nonsense only couples share, the empty bed... the feeling of once again being alone.

In time though those moments get forgotten, or at least replaced by new routines that help avoid them until enough of the pieces are back together that they don't hurt anymore. You no longer have to fight the urge to say good morning the moment you wake up; going for coffee no longer feels like an inside joke you have to share; going to sleep is no longer something that follows a two hour phone call.

But the bigger stuff, the truly great memories, they never go away. We find ourselves looking back on them with fondness, for comfort, proof that it did happen, that we were once that happy, that for a while at least we felt like we had it all. And sometimes we'll know why it ended and sometimes we wont; and as frustrating as either of these scenarios are, we'll accept that it doesn't really matter.

As long as we get to keep those moments.

It's those moments that make me question whether or not we ever truly stop loving someone. No matter how hurt we feel, no matter how much we feel they hurt us, deep down, if we're honest, we all have those moments, even for those who hurt us most. Sure they could be hidden behind bitterness, buried under blame, locked up behind the walls we let ourselves build as some kind of protection, but they're still there.

You're all still there.

My age alone must tell you
I cant be all "that" good
not exactly Sweeney Todd
but not quite Robin Hood

But a nice-ish guy I must surely be
as I sometimes come in last
and as for the good ones dying young
thats a test I think I've passed.

Only you will do
Only you can be enough
Only you is what I long for
Only you are who I love

No pretense is necessary
No roles need to be played
No facsimile of something else
next to whom I would be laid

For you to me are perfect
just the way you've always been
anyone who wishes different
does not appreciate what they've seen

Only you are what has me smitten
Only you are all  I see
Only you is what I wish for
Only you are meant for me

You ever feel you're on the brink,
of something truly great?
You feel success is imminent
like you hardly have to wait?

But then when nothing happens
you start to give up hope
You feel like a climber
running out of rope

And then for no reason at all
the feeling it comes back
But still the dream is unfulfilled
and you don't know what it lacks.

Well that's been me for some time now
teetering on the brink
I'm sure when it comes it will be great
but this waiting sure does stink

So come on fate, show your cards
at least give me a clue
if this "something great" will come to pass
or if there's more I need to do.

I wake up late
pull on my pants
no focus to my thoughts
pull up my fly
and start to cry
if only I'd put on shorts!

I close my eyes and picture what it would be like to wake up with you, and see the most serene things.

The perfect way to start the day

A thing that starts with stirring as we try and resist the natural action of actually waking up

Taking care to keep eyes closed we stretch

First one, then the other as our movements interfere with the perfect combination of bodies that has been our night

A hand moved

A whispered intention

A smile

Eyes still closed

Everything done by sense of touch

No alarm clocks

No ringing telephones

No sudden starts

Just two people greeting the day and each other in the most perfect way

It's funny how your poetry
has the power to make me blush
it's like our little secret
and it gives me quite a rush

You think anyone has figured out
that poem is 'bout me?
I'd like for everyone to know
just how lucky life can be

I wonder if this poem
(I'm curious I'll confess)
will start a little treasure hunt
for my hidden poetess.

The homeless starving
We walk past - heads turned away
A world invisible

Why do I lie awake at night
and choose the need of sleep to fight
Do I resist the coming day
that exhausted I do sleep away
perchance my clocks of different time
and I should live on other lines
where GMT is further west
my body clock is suited best
and in that place I'll sleep in line
with others living in that time
my body rested, nourished soul
the more equipped to reach my goal
no more to linger through the night
instead in sunlight taking flight
where nights are nights and days are days
I'll soar aloft on golden rays
free from turmoil, free of strife
free once more to live this life

Remember dancing in the dark
and sharing picnics in the park
telling stories by the lake
and doing things for doings sake

No plans were made, things just got done
and we enjoyed them, every one
But now those days are left behind
anothers arms you chose to find

and so i'm left to dance alone
and eat my take out in my home
the lake is dry the stories gone
the lights gone out where once they shone

And so another chapter starts
of shattered dreams and broken hearts
No plans now made, nothing to do
its all for one where once was two

Come, lay down here beside me
and hold me through the night
and as I dream don't slip away
please stay and hold me tight

As the night turns cold embrace me
blanket me with love
and as our bodies do entwine
would you fit me like a glove

When the rising sun opens my eyes
will you face be the first I see
Would I awake still in your arms
or would it be just me

In just over a hundred characters,
you find out my heart is broken,
shattered to a million pieces,
by words that went unspoken.

Sometimes the words come easily
sometimes they make me choke
sometimes they bring back memories
of the lies you spoke

Sometimes the memories make me smile
Sometimes they make me cry
Sometimes they take me back to when
I caught you in that lie

Sometimes I find I exorcise
the demons from within
and other times those once cast out
can find a way back in

So I will just keep writing
and hope to find one day
that all memories of you are gone
and my pain taken away

Give me a paintbrush and I'm lost

I produce things kindergarten kids would be too embarressed to take home to their parents, lest they stick them to the refrigerator door with little magnets and "other people" saw them.

Give me a pencil and I fare much better.

Things a high school kid would be kinda proud of but not necessarily want his peers to see are what I can produce with a pencil.

But give me words

Oh sweet, succulent words. Words with juice and passion and pain locked inside and I can free it all.

Words are my paint

Typewriter keys are my brushes

And this is my canvas

And on this canvas I can paint so many things.

Tales of love that remind what love used to be like when it was new and fresh and vibrant and all consuming, when love and the person you loved were the very air that you breathed, and when you could be with them you thought you would suffocate.

Tales of not love. Tales of a love that flows like a river in one direction only, always away from you and never towards. Washing away the banks of your soul as it does, eroding hope on its way before emptying into a sea of despair.

Tales of loss so vivid they bring tears to the eyes of some who read them for they truly are tragic tales.

And tales of hope. triumphs of good over evil, love over loss, joy over pain and sunshine over rain.

I paint pictures that make you laugh out loud and then quickly look round to see if anyone noticed.

But I am not naive

Pictures are subjective things, some we like some we don't.

And thats ok.

I'm not a big fan of Picasso, and as sensitive a guy as he was, he probably wouldn't be offended by that either.

Thank you for looking at the pictures I paint and the words I paint them with.

Are we books upon the same shelf
at this stage of our lives
slightly worn and dogeared
by our ex husbands and wives

Or could we be a little closer
different pages, same book
after all we've lots in common
and not just our outlook

But perhaps we're even closer
maybe words on the same page
Although written many years apart
by a wise and noble sage

And as time it marches onward
and we get to know each other better
it turns out that we're both a part
of exactly the same letter

Which I guess is something we both knew
way back there at the start
when we saw the world in each others eyes
and loved each others hearts

Born in Ottawa
Canadian teen idol
Singer songwriter
"Diana" made him famous
A popular "Lonely Boy"

In solitude I sit
quieting my mind
with peace and stillness all around
my inner self I find

A tranquility so beautiful
A silenced deafening roar
of normal life that carries on
beyond this temple door

Colours vivid, vibrant hues
a clarity unmatched
shattered like glass the moment that
the door became unlatched

Try as I might the moment lost
at least for now it seems
My meditation gave just a hint
a taste of the serene.

I've been loved
I've been lost
Paid the price
Counted the cost
But every time I came on back for more

I've been up
I've been down
Flown on high
Almost drowned
Found bruised and bloodied, naked on the floor

Some I win
Some I lose
But every time
I get to choose
When to carry on and when I'm fit

For what is life
without a soul
But a game
without a goal
And one in which I'm never gonna quit.

Why do the best things end
before they ever really start

and the travesties of life
never come far enough apart

And that always bitter taste
is never washed away

by Johnnie Walker Red,
Minervois or Chardonnay

Why did the sun that rose each morning
choose one day not show

And leave me here in darkness
with no place left to go

Does this mean its gone forever
never to return

Will I never feel its warmth again
will I never feel its burn

Or like the phoenix from the ashes
will it rise again reborn

Over a freshly woven landscape
no sign of sorrow, fear or scorn

The colour has been added in
that once was never there
a tear or two has now been fixed
with lots of tape and little care

Tattered round the edges
and never very clear
not worthy of display it stays
in the box right here

And while other better memories
go on display with pride not shame
the photograph that is my life
will never make it to a frame.

I hold your pictures in my hand,
as if they were life itself.
Some torn, some bent, some broken glass,
where I swept them off the shelf.

But now that anger it has passed,
and tears they fill my eyes.
I know you never meant to go.
I too am dead, inside.

Why could we not have had more time,
together you and I?
Before your sickness came along,
and took you from my side.

You fought so hard to stay with me,
and smiled through the pain.
So beautiful and brave you were,
sunshine amongst the rain.

Always I will remember,
and treasure what we had.
The mem'ry of our time together,
makes me happy, makes me glad.

I wish that I could follow you,
but here for now must stay.
To tell our baby of her mom,
and why she went away.

And tears come now not just to me,
as Rachael starts to cry.
I will kiss and hold her close for you,
goodbye my love, goodbye.

Who mourns the dead
from days gone by
When none are left
is it only I?

They shaped our land
and gave their lives
Fathers, daughters
sons & wives

And now they here
undisturbed
neath weathered stones
with faded words

"In memory of"
the headstones say
but names and dates
most worn away

Remember those
beneath the soil
for whom life was
an endless toil

for had their lives
not come this way
you and I may not
be here today.

I feel like I am lost,
no longer in the race,
just a state of constant free-fall,
tumbling through space.

No sense of where I'm heading,
even less of where I've been.
I must be just about,
the saddest thing you've ever seen.

At this stage of my life,
I was supposed to have it made,
but everythings falling apart,
no foundations ever laid.

So I sit and stare and look around,
at the pieces strewn nearby,
and wonder why it feels like,
my whole life is just a lie.

It feels like a plan.
is the one thing that I lack,
along with passion and commitment,
to get me back on track.

But then self pity, my new best friend
comes along and sits right down
and I wonder why I bother
and once more I start to drown

I shave my legs and pits and bits
in an effort to fit right in
But I'm always late
I'm "the chubby mate"
who would give anything just to be thin

My friends are pretty where I am plain
although none of them would ever say
So I'm left with no choice,
to get close to the boys
I have to give it away

Don't me wrong I like it
For those few minutes I feel real pretty
But ten minutes on
when he's already gone
Thats when I start to feel ******

I know I'm not the prettiest girl
but I'm honest, loyal and true.
If a boy could see past
the size of my ***
Well there ain't much that we couldn't do

Who lies beneath this faded stone
That once this place they did call home

This marker now thats all remains
Of a spirit free of earthly chains

Alas we know not who you are
and if you came from near or far

Nothing to say how long your life
Somebody's husband, child or wife

Did you suffer much, was death release?
All we do is pray you rest in peace

what else but a poem
can take you from this place
to somewhere else in history
somewhere else in space
to a time of greater happiness
or the depths of deep despair
just think of an emotion
there's a poem to take you there
there are no oils and no canvas
yet a picture they do paint
battles of good and evil
portraits of sinners or of saints
they carry messages of wisdom
and hope to those in need
so next time you want to travel
then its poems you should read

I know nothing about poetry
not my stanza from my verse
and I don't know all the rules
which makes others want to curse

I try to write a haiku
but i get the subject wrong
apparently senyru
is to the family it belongs

I don't know my Emily Dickinson
From my Edgar Allen Poe
And I feel sometimes my writing
has a long long way to go

But I like the sound of rhyming things
the rhythm and the tone
and the way that certain chosen words
can cut right to the bone

And I like the thought that somewhere
maybe upstairs in bed
someones days a little better
cos I wrote something they read.

Like trying to catch a butterfly out of reach
or counting grains of sand upon the beach
chasing feathers on the breeze
counting colour on autumn trees
the gift of poetry is mine to teach

To find the proper words can take some time
even longer if your poem is to rhyme
Select your rhythm and your style
set your tempo all the while
waiting for the warning bells to chime

You see originality is what you seek
but we're bombarded with so much noise from week to week
The lyrics of a song
can make our masterpiece go wrong
and bring us crashing down from our lofty peak.

But with luck the end result will never show
just how to hard you had to work to make it flow
Touch my spirit, touch my soul
bring me to tears and leave me cold
Show me things only a poet ought to know

They say that poetry is dead
although I'm not sure who "they" be
because I'm sat here writing it
so it aint dead to me

They say that poetry is lame
all romantic fluff and crap
but can you woo fair maidens
with a line from Andy Capp?

They say that poets all die poor
cash poor? that may be true.
but there's other kinds of riches
I receive when I reach you

See its not about the money
although more would be nice
It's all about connecting
and making you think twice

So poets, like their poetry
are neither lame nor dead
and if you dont believe me
just look back at what you've read

I sit and stare at an empty page
An actor in the middle of an empty stage
Nothing to say, no one to thank
My lines forgot, my mind gone blank

And the longer I stare the less I see
as if today naught will come from me
See my mind is cluttered with everyday stuff
Is the stove on, laundry done, the dryer de-fluffed?

I close my eyes to quiet my mind
Hoping some inspiration there to find
But alas none of the idea-fish have bitten
And all that I have is this page I have written

Who wants to come and join me
on a poetry retreat
We'll get to hang out somewhere cool
while putting up our feet

Perhaps in an old hunting lodge
or cabins by the sea
or maybe a French Chateau
underneath the Fleur de Lys

There'll be no one there but poets
folks like you and me
Who come to share ideas
and practice poetry

Perhaps there'll be a workshop
a recital maybe two
Where we take turns reading our poems
one from me then one from you

And when the weekends over
we'll part from our new friends
full of inspiration
may our passion never end.

I wish we wore no poppies
to remind us of our loss
No annual parade
at which we count the cost

I wish we'd gotten smart enough
to see nobody wins a war
Instead we let our minds be washed
over what they're fighting for

And fifty, sixty years from now
they'll ask what it was about
And we'll struggle to remember
of that I have no doubt

But it seems for now the past
holds a lesson we won't learn
Because frankly there's more profit
in watching the world burn

Thanks but I dont want your poppy
your badge, wrist band or pin
I give because I want to
because the pride comes from within

Save the pennies that it cost you
put it back into the cause
Showing everyone I gave something
won't start a peace to end all wars

Sure I know that I'll get frowned at
and some might even say
just whats wrong that guy
but I'll just turn and walk away

As they stand there with their poppies
that their dollar went and bought
I'll be the only one that knows
how much I paid for battles fought

Two brothers and a father
went to fight and ne'er returned
they died in wars we won
now there's a lesson's hard to learn

But every year I do my bit
put a hundred in the tin
But I never take a poppy
because the pride it lives within.

I have a postcard
pinned to the wall inside my mind
of you and me
sat 'neath a tree
me in front and you behind

In one hand a scribbler pad
in the other hand a pen
a playful duel
like kids at school
of poets does begin

Your turn to choose the topic
mine to write the first
I start the rhyme
with four quick lines
now its your turn, do your worst

A wrinkled brow, a ******* up face
then an idea and a smile
that cheeky grin
as you fill it in
gee you sure do take a while

Finally your verse is done
and you coyly hand it back
I read with a rush
and I feel my cheeks flush
"oh come on, you cant put that!!"

But you find it all too funny
and lie back laughing in my arms
and soon the book lies theres forgotten
as we explore each others charms

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ones that rhyme but aren't too long
You may be just about perfect
for tweetablepoems.com

If you want to have you poems read
from New York to Lon-don
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at tweetablepoems.com

Now your poems can reach the masses
it doesn't matter where you're from
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I'm over here, just look at me
acknowledge I exist
don't blindy shove your knife right in
and give a little twist
See I'm a real person too
with feelings just like yours
not a soul in search of pity
a human being not a cause
Listen to the words I say
don't presume to understand
just be sure you're going to follow through
before you offer me your hand
I've been let down way too many times
disappointed by the best
so now I stand upon the edge
and face the final test

On the edge of a nervous breakdown,
staring into the pit.
Unsure of which way to turn;
whether or not to commit.

Commit to the life I have,
or abandon hope for good.
Vision cloaked in darkness,
head bowed beneath the hood.

Drawn toward its anarchy,
seduced by lesson learned.
Restrained by one last hope,
heart and soul and fingers burned.

Chilling thoughts consume me,
fighting desires to be free.
If no choice is ever made by fate,
is this all that it will be?

New!
(maybe)
"Prime Poems"
Syllables in primes
One then two then three then five
Think back to math class at school for the others
Is it starting to come back yet or are you struggling
And the prime numbers are the easy part, wait til you have to find words
Then you'll be wishing you'd paid more attention in English class as well as math
Which of the two will fail you first, will it be knowing the next number or finding the right words

How do you make me feel so good,
whenever things are bad?
How do you always make me smile,
even when I am sad?

How do you say so much to me,
without making a sound?
How do you feel so close to me,
even when not around?

How does your voice lift me so high,
even when I feel blue?
How did I ever get this far,
without these gifts from you?

I'm giving up the rat race
gonna quit my job
Gonna go live off the land
an organic enviro-snob

Gonna grow my own potatoes
carrots, peas and beans
Live off fruits and vegetable
eat lots of salad greens

My food will taste like proper food
not of wax or pesticides
And every day I will receive
a big thanks from my insides

I'll generate my power
form a windmill or two
then hydro bill and services
I'll say good bye to you

For work I'll tend my garden,
chop down trees for fire-wood
I'll be getting so much exercise
I'll never have felt so good

To relax I'll keep on writing
poems such as this
telling of the good life
sharing all my bliss

It's like your eyes can see right through me
in every photograph of you
One look is all it takes
and then I don't know what to do

I've convinced myself you know for sure
all the thing's I've tried to hide
And by never saying anything
I know what you would decide

So I'll save myself the trouble
and you the angst of saying no
let's just pretend this never happened
and now I'll turn and go

I have rainbows at my feet
where my tears and sunshine meet
such a cruel trick of the light it is to play

surely colours out of place
in this sad and lonely space
everything not black or white should go away

If only someone knew
what it was that made me blue
then perhaps they'd find the words I cannot say

but for now it really seems
that I'm dancing in sunbeams
when in truth I'm really trying to run away.

Experiences are raindrops
falling through the sky
each one precious, each one different
let me tell the reason why

Our life is like the sky you see
through which these raindrops fall
we savour precious moments
but cannot keep them all

and so they pass right through our lives
and leave barely a trace
not affecting if we win or lose
just how we ran the race

No matter if they're good or bad
there's one place they all go
to join the waters of our life
and urge the rivers flow

and as they join the swirling mass
on the surface or down deep
they become like distant memories
we were not able to keep

but while they're tumbling through our lives
and we can still enjoy the ride
we try to find the happy ones
from the other ones we hide

but in the end they all become
part of the river bed
as the waters of our life dry up
and leave us here for dead

The old rocking chair
The dog asleep at my feet
The clock ticks softly
Pages turn in near silence
The serenity of books

And in the morning I shall wake alone
as always is the case
midst memories of dreams that saw
my arm about your waist

Of time spent with each other
holding hands along the beach
memories of dreams so vivid
makes them seem within my reach

Of simple things and better things
than currently we know
Dreams of time spent as a family
choosing together where to go

Of romantic surprise dinners
and things that now seem so mundane
Such is the tapestry of dreams I have
all of which are in your name

But in the morning I shall wake alone
not see your face nor hear your voice
For reality is not the dream
There you made a different choice

One day I awoke, strangely to find
the person I used to be gone, left behind

Somewhere, somehow, I became someone new
Who was much less like me, and a lot more like you

The changes were subtle, I did not even know
Until people asked me, just where did "you" go?

It appears I gave up being me just to please
the person I once proposed to from my knees

But the strangest thing is, I did not even see
the way you genetically, modified me

I looked like the me, that everyone knew
but instead of myself, to you I was true

And now that I see it, and begin to turn back
you're angry and bitter and start to attack

You think that there's someone else I now see
But don't see how that someone else can be me

I don't like the person, with you I became
It's not all your fault though, I'm partly to blame.

And just as I let you make me not the same
it is I that must choose my old self to reclaim

So from now on my dear our ways we must part
There's no place anymore for you in my heart

I'll put myself first, be alone for a while
Until I can look in the mirror and smile

And see there once more who I used to be
the reclaimed original version of me