100 metres to the end,
The finish line’s in sight
You’re laughing,’cos you can’t defend
Your feelings from last night
‘Cos it was all fine, not to worry
Your legs were there to carry you
“It is all mine”, so slightly sorry
Your lack of practice tarried you
But in the end, it is all blind
You can only wait and hope
You’ve left the others far behind
And tripping in the scope
Pete Hall may have a named place
And your name draws from the hat
And then the name’s stuck to the face
Before you know, that’s that
And if it ain’t, well then it ain’t
No use crying over lord’s own spilled paint
In the back of your mind, there’s still a force
Adding “St Andrews had a very nice course.”

To write poetry is to
tear your soul
in small pieces
and stick them down
on a piece of paper
in a wave
of overcoming power

And I still kept the rose you gave me
to remind me of love
and how temporary it could be.

Of course, it died.

I just realized
all my poems are about you
and in them
you’re always falling in love
with someone else

even in my dreams
I never let it be me