Gregarious Gregg,
He could take lofty people,
Down a pegg.

On his travels, place's no-one went,
The thrill of a postcard,
From where was it sent?

There would be chatter,
Rumours of his return,
What stories would he tell us?
How green was the fern?

On our way to Glastonbury,
We walked into a pub,
The landlady looked at Gregg,
With love in her eyes, "free drinks for you and your friends"
Fun and laughter was had by all,
Outside we asked him,
"So what's the story?"
Gregg just smiling,
"I've never seen her before"

Gregarious Gregg,
Everyone listened to the words he said.
Passions would arise,
With that sparkle in his eyes.

On a road trip,
Around the Ring of Kerry,
A man thumbing a lift came into view,
It looked like Gregg, but just couldn't be
True!
No-one knew I was here, the odds didn't fit,
But, there he stood, that look upon his face,
"I thought you might be around"
he said.

The passing of time,
We all slide our different ways,
Things you think will never end,
Gently drift into the haze.

Occasionally I'll bump into an old friend,
We chat about old times,
Soon Gregg's upon our lips,
Never leaves our minds.

Maybe we should visit him,
He's only somewhere in France,
Or leave things as they are,
Firmly in the passed.

She hurried on,
A laptop clutched to her chest,
Heavy bags with some books
And a pile of thoughts from nowhere.

She seemed to levitate,
Lifted by her own emotions.
She nearly lifted off, but she tripped
And fell on a bright fall afternoon.

A tiny, ridiculous bump,
Like a karate fighter’s sudden strike,
Sent her body reeling with a single blow.

She groaned.
She couldn’t stand up,
Her ankles were hurt.
The ego suffers shame
Lying flat, stripped of dignity—
Flesh and bone with higher aspirations
At the lowest score.

People passed without a word,
Without even bending down.
Invisibility. Disappearance.
Soon, perhaps, she will be taken
To another plane?
There lay a woman— not a human being?

Strange things happen on this cozy Earth.
Perhaps it was consciousness itself,
Or simple hellish humiliation on the wet sidewalk?

All speculation ended
with one short remark:
“She’s just drunk!”

How can you not love all these people
for their deep insight,
their tireless devotion to shapes
and short, simple lines.

Oh, Prophets at every step of our shared path,
always knowing more about my life –
and yours.