Living
Is giving
All of you,
In lots of
Little pieces.

Until you feel
Empty – then,
Something
Happens.

You start
To feel,
Alive.

Being fifty you
Should be glad as one hundred
Would be twice as bad

The smiling eyes like deep blue pools of love,
Delicious drowning feeling every call I make,
A flash of our seventh heaven lunch in Wien.

The lovely feeling of you nestling in my pocket,
Forever with me, good vibrations, but apart,
This lonely traveller is sleeping with you now.

Ten thousand miles, so far but yet so near,
Another week before my blue turns bright,
In your “Hi, good morning” arms again.

Stress is living life in a self-inflating  balloon
From airless to full is the excitement in life
Increases in pressure is a tension of colour
Stress filled is not stressful in this party of life
With survival a knack of avoiding sharp objects
And where excessive inflation will inevitably
Cause an instant deflation in very small pieces
Of the dreams and goals which are life today
And like Humpty in pieces these cannot
Be easily put back together again.

You know without understanding
You see without appreciating
You speak without listening
You hear without silence
You buy without needing
You read without feeling
You feel without caring
You love without living
You are without being.

Softness envelopes you like a warm cloud
Sensuous touch brings us closer than skin
Time stops for almost endless moments as
We fly higher than the moon in the morning.

We are always good together methinks and
"Nothing can do us any harm"- like that song
We made out to from the White Album many
Years ago when you were just as beautiful
As you are today in our rumpled feather bed.

A silent thunder which
We feel but cannot hear
Rumbles on relentlessly
Through our lives as an
Unperceived presence  
In this life and the next.

Is this presence our
God who is indifferent,
To our problems and
Those of seven billion
Souls, and is unlikely
To be interested in our
Insignificant lives?