Looking across the waters as you stood upon the shore,
a warm feeling your only comfort.
Shadows of a distant past so long before.
memories now fresh of love undone,
the mingling of two hearts that beat as one.

Sights and sounds and vague imaginings
that passed so long ago, a time of love so seldom had
that few have come to know. Me, I was fine up until the time
that you gathered me aside, speaking of matters so far from thought, of how your mind and spirit fought.

Of how you cannot accept the time
although your heart has received a sign.
Why do you unplug my ears and open my eyes
if not selfishly to console your fears and subdue your sighs.

Were you tired of being lonely standing in spirit by the sea,
are you crying out for you only or are you calling out for me.
What purpose served in judging so quickly, so swiftly, so much.
Why make us within arms reach when you remain so out of touch.
You run at the sound of love's unfinished call,
then turn on your heel and unsure of you direction, you stall.

Hiding in your craft you paint to appease you muse,
the oils they dry so slow. Creating visions of what you choose,
still, not always of what you know. Ships and bluffs and the face of love, the canvas again and again will change.
Images of a sea so rough and a love determined to remain.

Paint me out of the picture, paint another man over me,
it will not change that it was me that stood aboard that ship
below the cliff that you stood upon.
Behind you, the rolling highlands of our beloved
Scotland, while below you the thickness of mist
hides that we list, and are going down.

Then waves crashing and men thrashing, don't you know that I have drowned. Your tears add to the vastness of the sea,
I know that although you cry for you, you also cry for me.
Paint dries faster than the tears you have shed,
for a heart cannot master a love that is not dead.

I wish that you had been spared the wait, knowing what it is to grieve. You felt you only standing at the gate though hand in hand with me. If I could have kissed you cheek to take away your pain, for I would do anything for you, even die again...

I'm not here
to testify

I'm not here
to mystify

I'm not here
to justify

I didn't come here
to classify

I didn't come here
for no donkey ride

I feel out-side
I feel outside

I only came her
because my dog has died

What happens when a hoarder marries a minimalist
I'll tell you what happens, chaos, pure chaos
One tries to hang onto everything, Everything!
The other secretly removing items from their home keeping order

Old copies of The National Enquirer where the truth can be told,
not like the hundreds of Rolling Stone Magazines passing for news and entertainment did they ever change from a one-time underground press they started as.

The minimalist is always throwing stuff out and this purge is not taken well by the one wanting to hold on to everything, and not things that serve a purpose, she is like a magpie collecting shinning little bits as well as old and worn vehicles, cluttering up the yard surely making the neighbours smile... yeah right.

I can't keep doing this, he says, not only to himself but also to her.
Was God a hoarder. I think not. Everyday things go away. Species die none stop, Stars explode releasing boundless energy.
Space expands, more room, the sky looks cluttered but is so vast.

The hoarder and the minimalist. They oh so love each other nothing will tear them apart, they stand their ground, they love each other to the end of time, time and space. This life isn't a race it's a challenge. So they continue to give and to take. Love, it's love.

not entitled
broadly speaking
not speaking of broads
of course not
you silly goose
flying south
out of or in order
i will take greasy fries
on the side

c look at me

it must be tiring
with all the heat
of summer

it was cool here yesterday
down the estuary

and rain came about 7.30

refreshing while walking

no use when your job is baling
when the baler is jammed

so we had a break in the back garden
six feet apart and talked about policemen

remembering earlier times

later a friend rang and said it was good
to hear a different perspective on things

i also was interested to hear a different

perspective on things

we come lately
we come with more
promise

with bird song
this morning

so why the darkness
some days

is that natural?

there is a clear pool up by the mountain
where recently visitors have left litter

dark clouds gathering

My tears are dry
as a bone. I cried
many teardrops
that froze to my

face. They turned
to icicles and cut
as razor blades. I bled
out all the red myself

in bed. I turned
hard from the cold, as
the grass in my yard
under a blanket of

snow. I’ve dug
an impression none can
see. The sun doesn’t shine
on me. When you’re a rock

they look at you
as a mismatched sock. None
can tell I fought to grow
between the blades and bitter snow.