Blowing the seeds
to the wind
scattering time
the seeds of time
The hands of the
grandmother clock chime
just like the watch of mine
draped around my wrist
The seeds kissed
my face not the clocks
as the pendulum rocks
to and fro
been nowhere but has
somwhere to go.
Not too fast but nice and slow.
The seeds blow
over and under
through hail and thunder
rain and shine
Time is all mine
I have it in the palm of my hand
Like little streams of falling sand
which measures time.

I strolled slowly
It was a Sunday
but it was fine.
I was not but it's Sunday.
I needed time.
I stood by your grave
on the Sunday
I wondered why.
I started to cry.
But it is not allowed.
I screamed out loud.
Why did you go
on a Sunday
Why?
Another day
but not Sunday.
Someday it will be my Sunday.

What exactly gives you the right to call me names
When you are not perfect yourself I'll have you know.
Maybe in your head its just your idea of fun and games
Makes you feel big, your own little floor show.

Well I have got news for you, you can sling your hook
I do not want you in my life, that is all I have to say.
I am moving on, I need to read from a better book
Because I have feelings, and i want a better day.

Choice, there is so much choice
But there are hidden traps.
Say the wrong thing on any shape or form
Then it is back to the drawing board.
There are no maps
to guide you,
To special flags along your way
Mistakes you can ill afford
just watch what you say.

"Hello dear, had a nice day"
Her husband red faced pushes his way into the door.
"Oh dear, I say!"
He promptly slumps to the floor.
She is thinking about sending for the doctor
as she rushes to the telephone.
Perhaps he had taken ill suddenly
when he was coming home.
Perhaps the stress at work has got to him
She hunts for the right words to say.
She puts her hand on his heart for rhythm
She knew this was the right way.
She'd seen it on the telly a thousand times
But then something struck her eye.
The shape of pink perfect lips on his neck
and now she realised why.
He'd been up to no good
flirting with the women at length.
She smelt his shirt for evidence
and in a rage she picked up strength.
"What have you been doing, you stupid man,
Your place is here at home with me
Not galavanting around with other women"
She'd seen it all before on the TV.
She became hot under her collar
and went to fetch her bag to leave.
He muttered something, she couldn't quite hear
How could he after all these years deceive.
She thought he said the word daughter
She of course had got the wrong end of the stick.
Too many incorrect words had been spoken
She went out the door all too quick.
The man died on the floor, heartbroken
Their daughter laid a rose on his grave.
The relationship she had with her mother shattered
and one she didn't want to save.
Jumping to conclusions, well is all too easy
Harder to find the right words to say
We all make mistakes, we are all human
Pressure, is tricky at the end of the day.

What is this, does it speak?
I've noted too it has a sharp beak!
If you squeeze its feet
It lets out a sharp squeak
And its piercing peck has made me weep!

It is snowing petals
of such delicate hue
There is a warmth in the air
and overhead it is just blue.
The fields are carpeted
in a rich deep gold
The woods hold the mauve
so delicately yet so bold.
Spring has sprung
the lambs jump with glee
My green eyes are smiling
as far as they can see,
May, what a wonderful month
A beautiful time of the year
The flowers shake their petals
for the summer is nearly here.

I have an empty heart
yet it weeps.
I cant cry
I have no tears
They are dry.
Yet my heart weeps.

A note to
myself
Do not
eat
the dog's
chocolate.

He makes me giggle
he makes me smile
His work stands out
more than a mile.
His work is hilarious
although not all.
He has a gift
knowing which to put where.
His name is
Martin.

I wish
a very
happy Easter
to everyone.