the lake bed
was uneven
a mosaic
of large rocks
loose
and dancing
under foot
with each
shuffled step
an interchange
of unreliable shallows
and inconsistent depths
he wasn't
particularly keen
only willing
to venture in
up to his chest
reluctant
to advance
if he couldn't
plant paws
firmly
on soil
   or stone
not even
the lure of food
was enough
to tempt him;
though he wanted
his treat
a reward
   for his bravery
the murky water
   the unknown
   the unfamiliar
   the unexpected
was just
too much

at breakfast
another hotel restaurant
another choice to be made
of mediocre cooked
or bland continental
a fish bowl
of floor to ceiling
panoramic windows
people-watching
strangers passing
insignificantly through
one another's universes
parents desperate
to negotiate the morning
without a scene
suits with shirt and tie
top buttons undone
for now
retiree couples
happy in each others silence
or those lucky ones
who still find words
when alone together
or the curious
solo diners
alone and lost
in their own thoughts
or striving to hide
how they watch
those others
as they go about
their business
of goodness-knows-what
another banquet shared
unbeknownst to all
in attendance

the trouble is
sleep doesn't
ever seem to last
long enough
no matter how many
hours are lost
to its nothingness
discarded willingly
to the vague
and the vacuous
some might say
for dream's sake
but debate remains
around the benefit
relevance or reverence
to be found
in that logic
waking up always
brings with it
a desire for more
for a return to
a form of non-being
where presence
and nullity
have equal sway
to be
and
not to be
ego
     id
        superego
free of interference
from that backwards
rationality
   of consciousness

even as adults
given two magnets
we will strive
to force
each matching pole
together
with all
that can be mustered

we learnt
from a young age
that this would not
be possible
and yet
despite this
we would still
push
and
push
until the tips
finally touched
only
to burst apart
as soon as
our grip
was relaxed

it seems we understood
but
would not accept

there is no point
in trying to force
a connection;
it cannot
and will not
last

caught off guard
by yet another downpour
unprepared again
he could shelter
from the torrent
tormenting
and tempestuous
beneath the hung branches
of this laden tree
overreaching
beyond its means
but he knows
it cannot keep him dry
for as long as
he might need
from bough to branch
to leaf and bud
down the back of his neck
through layer upon layer
soon sodden and soiled
those discomforting drips
will expose that
which he didn't want
exposed

i would like
to keep bees
or at least
i like the idea
of keeping bees
to be honest
i know nothing
next to nothing
about all that
it entails
but it seems like
it would be cathartic
although their frenzies
may be calmed
by the smoke
movements must remain
slow and gentle
such fragility
must be tended to
   carefully
   mindfully
almost lovingly
i think i like
the idea of the peace
to be found in
those moments
there is a
shade-dappled spot
at the bottom
of the garden
that would be
the perfect place
for them
where the humming
of the hive
would accompany
the swaying of
the tree's
their gentle whispering
and the quietude
that would settle
beyond

the protea magnifica
or queen protea
as it is also known
is a south african flower
of which until recently
i was shamefully unaware
a sprawling shrub
of varying height
dependent upon
influences of its growth
but a hardy plant
nonetheless
able to survive
and to thrive
under the starkest
of conditions and habitats
its flower is not delicate
like many others
but a symbol of survival
of resilience and growth
its boldest of blooms
an array of brightest hues
sending a message
of strength and power
courage and hope
yet the tightly held
closed cup of its petals
suggests a reluctance
to be noticed
an uncertainty
of it's own true beauty
perhaps in comparison
to its kingly namesake

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

there is water
somewhere on my right
i can hear it
the gentle patter
of what must be
a delicate fountain
hidden amongst
the foliage and flowers
of freshly bloomed lilies
or falling from a feature
at the water's edge
there is a far-distant
rumble of jet engines
undoubtedly drawing
trails of vapour
across an otherwise
unblemished blue
sounds of traffic
dulled to almost nothing
a background hum
barely noticeable
even the unfamiliar
shrieking of a siren
as it passes by
cannot overpower
the drawn-out strains of violin
the rasgueado strum of guitar
the echoed stomp and clap of dancers
performing or practicing
in front of the monument
to a public figure
of some kind
that i would likely
not recognise or be aware of
on the other side of the park
a clock tower bell
chimes the hour
two o'clock
setting a fluttering
of birds to wing
chattering on the breeze
the seemingly constant
pattern of clicking heels
and scuffed steps
along the nearby path
tell of an exhaustive
cosmopolitan life
a dog begins barking
as i open my eyes
reminding me of home

a neighbour
plays saxophone
somewhere down the street
it sounds like
they are at
an open window
practicing scales
bursts of pieces
previously mastered
other segments
yet to be perfected
those standard exercises
again and again
with missed breaths
and off-note *******
building in complexity
but slowed down
beyond recognition
with their concentration
no doubt
seething at times
behind closed doors
as fingers refuse
to obey
not moving fast enough
assuredly enough
it should annoy me
it usually would
this distraction
while I try
to read or write
the stumbling repetition
of practice failing
to make perfect
but today
there is a calming
in the familiarity
of it all

if i could just
find the trick
to remembering
that i was right
               all along
for a change

all was peaceful
   serene
      secure
content in this
sleepy isolation
with only the dogs
for company
had i wished
to disturb their
soothing repose
reading
a little-known novel
once heralded
the hero
if he could
be called such
was fracturing
slowly
on the brink
of shattering

before the incendiary
final pages
could be reached
this dormant comfort
erupted
interrupted
by a shattering
much closer
   to home;
both dogs
and man
on the highest
of alert
searching
for a cause
anything
   to blame
but finding
nothing

perhaps it is apt
the first pancake
is always
a disappointment
stodgy
anaemic
without that light
crisped perfection
we've come to expect
it is undercooked
typically
as the ideal
frying time
is gauged
incorrectly at first
it will be
plated with
accompanying pleas
for forgiveness
and absolution
but as penance
someone has to
suffer this
pariah's offering
with each mouthful
comes thoughts
of apology
of atonement
of promises
it will be better
next time

only two dancers
remain standing
shuffling
   and swaying
under syncopated lights
held by
an unspoken law
an apparently unavoidable
trait of human nature
that forces them
to continue despite
such terrible choices
of song
and persistence
each was merely
a "friend
   of the bride"
moving in different circles
prior to this
their dancefloor meeting
unfortunately
neither can now
abandon the other
to dance alone
to risk being seen
as the cause
for bringing this
near-sacred ritual
to an end
these residual bodies
left with no choice
but to mirror
each movement
match every sidestep
echo every clap
with rhythm
   or without
it will not matter
so long as this
transient solidarity
of misplaced confidence
and forced smiles
continues into
the next song

it just doesn't
come naturally
there's an awkwardness
a failure
to accurately convey
what needs
to be
conveyed

either that
or uncontrolled words
twist sentences
contort the sentiment
that was intended

feigning the expected
mimicking those witnessed
bought success
in the past
but
under closer scrutiny
the charade
would be discovered

for now though;
this silence
has drawn on
far
     too
           long
without response

another chance
wasted

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

it's
not enough
and
it
never will be;

but
it's never wasted
and
won't soon
be forgotten.

that i am willing
to sit through this
suffering discomfort
and awkwardness
repeatedly and
of my own volition
must be a testament
to something
i am just not clear
whether it should
be taken as a positive
         or negative
it might show courage
could merely be folly
a sign of resilience perhaps
or remnants of my naivety
it could be inspirational
belief in oneself or
simply a case of conceit
let's be honest
it could be any of those
or it could be none
yet more than likely
i am overthinking
everything again

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

it could be a sign;
that the ring
didn't fit easily
on the finger
effort was needed
it had to be forced
or it could
just be temporary
joint effusion
perhaps an unexpected
weight fluctuation
meaning nothing
yet i'll assign significance
to fit the narrative
feed anxieties
and support
a predetermined belief

that plant in the window
may well resent those roots
firmly potted and positioned
on that westerly sill
held in place as it is
by those wispy tendrils
straining outwards
desperate for growth
ever-reaching for
the drifting light
of that introverted Sun
evasive though it may be
its potential remains
dirt encrusted and anaemic
as the hidden branching is
neither its stem nor leaf
nor its bud or flower
could realise the heights
that it hopes to achieve
without these buried parts
for though this tangle
is filth-covered and
far from what any wish
to be faced with
when in admiration
                   of such flora
without this
the evolving maturation
from ceaseless elongation
and meristematic activity
the terracotta on display
could not be filled with
this greenery so vibrant

i bought a chair
that i thought was
exactly
what i was looking for
exactly
what i needed

the style
           the shape
                        the colour
ergonomic perfection

that something so simple
could align with
my needs
my wants;
i was surprised
i admit
it caught me off guard

but in time
the comfort i thought
i had found
was found wanting
dissipated

adjustments were made
and support toyed with
plumped up
or reduced
as seemed necessary
only to achieve
further discomfort
and anger

perhaps this desire
(or desperation)
to find
an idea of perfection
dulled my senses
forced
what did not truly fit

i have now spent
more time
seated
upon the floor
considering a replacement;
unable to commit
to discarding
this imperfect throne

i have no confidence
in finding anything better
and will likely continue
second guessing myself
as i second guess myself

there is beauty
beneath;
i know
i have seen it
i have felt the joy
and
the peace

but
in my anger
it is crushed
it turns to sand
and falls
from
          my
                 clenched
                                  fist

i couldn’t stop myself

throwing stones
into the lake
i discovered
the dog
likes to chase
the staccato splashes
as the surface
of the water
is broken
with inexpressible joy
pebbles were tossed
individually
and by handfuls
as i watched
the playful bounding
for over
half an hour

unfortunately
i had not spotted
the fisherman
further along
the water's edge
rolling eyes
and shaking head
as wave
after wave
of rippled chaos
disturbed his lure
and line
scaring away
anything
he had hoped
to catch

i sit
and watch the fly
in its directionless ballet
it is frustrating
                and tiring
just watching
as it changes it's mind
incessantly

i laugh
i know as little as the fly
down which path
the right choice lies
maybe if i help
i'll get some help
in return

i open the window
and wait;
over
and
over
it flies into the pane

i can't decide
if its inspirational
or
pitiful

this same robin
has visited
every day
for the past week
watching
as I work
curiosity
fearlessness
bringing him
closer
and closer
enough for me
to identify
the glowing colour
of his breast
the ruffled feathers
of his crown
and his gentle
inquisitive conversation
as he inspects
the freshly turned soil

i respond
to his chatter
knowing
   not caring
that neither
   understands
      the other;
there is something
in his presence
that outweighs
the need
for answers

pictures from
this new telescope
unveiled
glimpses of
an early universe
in spirals
clusters
and clouds
      of colour
amidst
an ever-changing
luminescent haze
stretched across
the bespeckled
vastness of black;
a cosmic dance
of light
through time
and space
both answering
and posing
countless potentials

even so
it is difficult
not to compare
these images
with what
can be seen
by looking through
a child's kaleidoscope

the flowers that bloom
at the site of this burial
are not a marker
nor memory of
what lies beneath;
they are the reminder
that there will always
be this burst of
colour and beauty
to be cherished
in spite of
what those roots
have grown through

it showed
an utter disdain
for the conventions
of such an event
that they would
not toe the line
like the others
they proffered
none of the standard
shoulder-dipping
sidestepped shuffles
nor the exuberant
failing of arms
that have come
to be expected
of "good" dancers
those overused staples
that accompany such
predictable song choices
outdated and enjoyed
only ironically
this dance could not
faithfully manifest
their truth

they danced
not for that unnoticed
peripheral audience
but solely
to tell a story
to one another
instead they chased
cavorted and capered
with piggybacks
and fireman's lifts
arms-spread spinning
they became fireworks
their bodies
exploding apart
pulled together
breathlessly
slipping
   and stumbling
without a care
leaping shoelessly
from place to place
from song to song
ending always
in each other's arms

like pieces of a jigsaw
their faces were joined
interlocked in places
overlapping at others
like Picasso himself
had painted them
with linocut or oils
an imperfect portrait
harmoniously
                  asymmetrical
created by these two
fragmented profiles
lips interdependent
remaining in want
fulfilled for a moment
in this "their moment"
a cubist vision of beauty
not in appearance
or form necessarily
but in what it shows

the pompous one
with her comments
as she slithers by
with
the rudest
of dogs

the confident family;
confident
     to a fault
sitting too close
and talking
too loud

the hypocrite
complaining
of the mess
and leaving behind
a scavenger's
detritus

the insecure sage
a font of knowledge
based on
hearsay
and opinion
with only
a pinch
     of fact

the innocently gormless
with no thought
for sense
     or logic
common or otherwise
but only
for the now
and
the immediate

these are
the passengers
on the
carousel
     of frustrations
for today;
replayed
rephrased
resurrected
over
and over

i think
so little
     of them
yet
i'm unable
to stop myself
thinking
about them

i have no idea
when it started
but
i've been building
for a while now
year on year
brick on brick
everything sacred
                    fragile
safe and protected
behind the fortress walls

a citadel
for the pure
             the honest
                    the real
locked away
hidden
from the risk takers
and the hurtful

safe inside
surely...

realising too late
all i will ever see
is
brick
on
brick
while the beautiful
and miraculous
pass by
out of reach

rather than check
the forecast
for some reason
i think it enough
to merely
look to the sky
for a cursory
ten or so seconds
to observe the drifting
of weighty clouds
the overwhelming of
any strokes of blue
that might remain
being diminished
by the shifting greys
of approaching rain
before surmising
whether or not
a coat or umbrella
might be needed
at some point
in the coming hours

i tried on
a new shirt
it fitted ok
not perfectly
by any means
but well enough
               for its price
it would be suitable
for the occasion
i suppose

it could perhaps
be a little longer
as it is liable
to ride up
and reveal my stomach
if i raise my arms
it's also
a little tight
across the chest
if i'm honest
and
now that I think about it
i'm not certain
it actually
suits me

i could just wear
one of my other shirts
that would probably
be more comfortable
and would
save spending
needlessly
there's the old blue one
after all;
i haven't worn that
for awhile

she asked for
a birthday calendar
simplistic in design
quite endearing
nonetheless
to collate
each and every
important date
mark them down
in her neatest
clearest handwriting
she thought that
if she hung it
in pride of place
on the wall
by the kitchen door
her eye would
be drawn to it
each time
she left the room
she would not
forget to send
the appropriate message
of congratulations
and many happy returns
when needed
     or expected;
although
the calendar may
coincidentally
be showing
the correct month
it has remained
on that page
untouched
     ignored or
     unheeded
for the past
eleven months

a celestial body
lesser of age but
brighter in composition
was found to be
unexpectedly disarming
in its distorted form
unable to maintain
its expected shape
it was drawn in by
the voracious needs
of the other's gravity
a starry beckoning
that caused these
entities to draw forth
towards one another
this sharing of energies
a merger however
seemingly not unlike
those observed before

and yet something
about this pairing
steals the attention
of the experts and
the admirers alike
this rotation of one
about the other
guarding devotedly
from perils unseen
in the midst of
this stellar pirouette
there continues a chaos
pulling from all directions
both together and apart
defiant and undeniable
fluctuating with unknowns
eventually to become

it is not words
not even laughter
not a smile
nor a gesture
an expression
or opinion

there could be
silence;
nothing
but silence
and
our stillness

it would still be true.

there is an owl
out there
   somewhere
in the darkness
kept secret
by whispering trees
shrouded
in shadow
by leaf
and cloud
it seems
to have a question
for any
who will listen
politely
but persistently
it inquires
pausing briefly
awaiting
an answer
before asking
again
and again;
whether intended
or not
this interrogation
has infuriated
the old boy
and seemingly
every other canine
in the vicinity

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

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

there are certain things
that i only think about
late at night
while the moon
smirking down
looms
full and brilliant
encouraging me to consider
everything broken

there's an answer there somewhere
it promises

by morning
epiphanies fade
never held long enough
never followed through

squinting
against the sun's condescension
i'm reminded of the moon
and it's smirk
but this time
there is no trust

as they
shuffled by
she told her friend
“i always look
forward to this
time of year
when the first
tinge of yellow
touches the leaves
with the contrast
between shade
and sunshine
a comparison
of polar opposites
where a gentle breeze
can chill
or relieve
one making you
appreciate the other
once it has gone”
i couldn’t help
but take note
of her poetic words
as i surveyed
those same trees
glad to see
swaying hues
of green against
shadow-dappled green
feeling fingers
of sunlight
still breaching
filigree tree-shadows
to warm the skin
of passers-by
while overhead
a pastel blue sky
mottled with only
staccato wisps
of gentle stratus
paint the vista
leaving thoughts
of the days to come
when this spectrum
will shift
and these colours
must change

i had always believed
the beauty of the stars
glittering the night sky
could not be surpassed
but those other galaxies
swirling and rutilated
within the moss agate
of her ringed irises
showed me once again
how little i know

it turns out
we were hasty;
though we gathered wood
it was not nearly enough

those fires we had
burned bright
and true
but
maintaining such heat
proved harder
than imagined

offerings
at the start
were too much
too generous
burnt through
too quickly
radiating heat
enveloping us
in a false sense
of comfort

settling into this warmth
this temporary state
of contentment
the need for stoking
                for fresh wood
goes forgotten
as flames die
as embers dull

all it needs
is for someone
to reach out
into the cold
and awaken the fire
but it seems
no one
is willing

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

a man sits
at the bottom
of the steps
not blocking the path
but he cannot be missed
begging alms
from the myriad
who climb and descend
in droves
the cup he holds
is barely weighted
by the meagre amount
he has received
he patiently wishes goodwill
to all who pass
despite their lack of offerings
even though
the majority will ignore
purposefully averting their eyes
or apologetically decline
to part with
any lose change
instead saving their coins
to pay their entry
to marvel at
the gilded interior
of the church
whose teachings include
"love thy neighbour"

even if
   i could
go back
in time
make changes
to the things
that didn't quite
work out
the way i wanted
have a second
   third
      fourth
attempt
at putting
something right
even if
there was
an opportunity
to make
the entirety
   of everything
better
i can honestly say
i'm not certain
i would

i've seen
far too many
films
and tv shows
about time-travel
to make me think
it's probably
a lot more effort
than
it's worth

wading through
the shallows
a dip
in this sea
does not
at first
look
particularly appealing
beneath
the surface is
a microcosmic tempest
of shingle
and sand
dashing
upon toes
upon ankles
upon shins

a tickle
of seaweed
leaves paranoia
burning
where sense
and logic
should reside
suddenly
i'm wondering
where sea snakes
are usually found

tiptoeing
against each swell
to keep shoulders
above water
somebody calls out
   jellyfish
and laughs
clearly
they are not
surrounded
by these
alien forms
drifting
ever closer
leaving me
no option but
to struggle
to remain
statuesque
as they pass
too close
for comfort

when the depth
forces me
to give up
my toehold
of sand
or shell
to tread water
and embrace
the solitude
finally
i will see
how truly clear
the waters
can be

its these winter mornings
where any thought
of greeting
the dawning day
with warm thoughts
hopeful exuberance
and a positive outlook
will quickly be silenced
along with
the birdsong of
that overly optimistic alarm
that melody
so carefully selected
to ease consciousness
into a brightened state
of motivation
of joy
despised within seconds
immediately cut short
and resented for
its mindless persistence

the first excuse
a need for another
ten minutes
of warmth and comfort
to prepare
for the day
for life in general
perhaps
the second
a negotiated concession
that there was
no real reason
to get up
early anyway
finally
uncertain whether
in victory
   or defeat
the alarm will be
cancelled completely
along with the rest
of the day

the dictionary may tell
of these words
and their definitions
but those pages will never
portray the true meaning
in the context of you