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

at least for now
i'm smiling

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

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

there is no beauty
in the 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 it
our every action
spoils the purity
unveils the flaws
leaves us regretting
what we once tolerated
maybe next time
we will make it
last longer

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

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

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
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

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