Slips of paper,
lines desperately written
before they are forgotten
the ink silenced;
hidden.
left to breathe,
gathered with others
growth of meaning
the fortunate ones remain,
disassembled,
realigned and set firm.
These words,
the chosen silent ones,
fixed and shared
hold power to be heard
when read
our thought's expression,
our passion.
Do we choose the poems
or do they choose us?

Beyond the passion of colour
the wind is crawling over trees
clawing at loose clothing
and things
not tethered or secure.
Beyond empathic words uttered
it sings hollow
and then a full
roar
settling its breath
to a sigh as it dies
beyond the texture it brings.
With nothing to mark
its existance except thee.

Hello.
Today is Friday,
And it soon will be the end of the day.
Let's eat something.
Jello.

The window opened
Cool air splash in quick right now
Feels so nice like this

She sits as only little girls do
Playing with the ends of her hair
Watching the boats come in
And go out
On the choppy Solent waves.
The shingle is wet glass
And clouds form playful shapes.
Looking behind she sees her father
Smiling as he carries dripping lollies
To console a sunless afternoon.

He reaches the promenade
With its concrete *****
Balancing feet without sight
He slowly walks towards her.
She senses his vulnerability
Love pours out
Soaking her dress with spray
As she moves
To help him
Those last few steps.

Love Mary

untimely orifice,
subtly trodden
on whetted stones.

an oasis of
nostalgia splurged
into your wake,
tissue plunging into
an indefinite praise.

the echo frayed
your form and
saturated your
sunken flesh.
a fissured whispering
of distinguished life.

even you knew more
about fluttering eyelids
than my mind could
sort to decompose.

That happiest moments come in childhood
When innocence combed ones hair
And Saturdays bring respite
Bedrooms lined with a few toys
While two fair ground ballerinas
Curtesy on a white wood mantelpiece.

Then that snuggling down to sleep
Under homemade feather eiderdown
Hot lemon and sugar brought in a glass
The certainty of mother's voice
Climbing the stairs with wine gums.

Even if time stretched patience
It arrival brought only surprises
And leaf rubbings on paper
Were treasured achiements
Displayed in cardboard mounts.

Love Mary x

If I could love
the limping
ugly
afraid
part of me
That I drag through the mud
and thorns

If I could let
the transparent
clawing
screaming
silhouette speak
Instead of kicking it
into the basement

If I could put
my deepest human essence
onto paper
for everyone to see

Then.
Then, I could be free.