Here is life and love, pain and pleasure,
Ten years traversing those steps,
Tired waitress, twelve hours hell,
I am facing the door in Fratelli’s.

Too-jolly Australians on a budget,
Eating soup and dessert, are missing,
The pasta, the best part, it seems,
I am facing the door in Fratelli’s.

Miscreant male constantly corralled,
By his Austrian authoritarian aunt,
Filling her face with a pasta mountain,
I am facing the door in Fratelli’s.

New lovers lost in each other’s eyes,
Carpaccio di salmon slices sharp cold,
Their Gaja Barbaresco lust blood red,
I am facing the door in Fratelli’s.

Old lovers holding hands in silence,
Pasta warm feelings of Taglioni Fratelli,
This Chianti Classico two will soon be one,
I am facing the door in Fratelli’s.

Married couple, on different planes,
Broadcast to their neighbours the plans,
Of loveless friends in lifelong *******,
I am facing the door in Fratelli’s.

Meal memories of two and more,
Of friends and family, work and play,
Life and love and unforgettable moments,
I am facing the door in Fratelli’s

Old Year on last legs staggers slowly towards midnight,
Memories in our pockets are like butterflies and stones,
A deep dark lake of forgetfulness swallows the stones,
Some sink deep, others shallow, a source of pain again,
Butterflies now free lift our spirits in a tapestry of colour,
Flying high on past pleasures and treasured moments,
New Year born in a carnival of gluhwein and pink pigs.

Mid-winter solstice, cold dawn,
The shortest day is the longest night.
Day grey skies, walking on rain empty beach.
Night bright carolling and mulled wine warming,
Friends’ festive mood balks bank depression,
The world turns and the days get longer,
On this 3rd rock from the sun
In snow-cold Dublin.

She sips tea with her son in a Tunisian tent
Orange and blue scarves sun-bright in summer
Mitsubishi motors mandatory for desert trek
Sardinia is two hours and a lifetime away.

Pensive thoughts on a desert dune heaven
Life can slip through the fingers like sand
Grasping the chance to live in the moment
Arabian nights’ stories for next week’s kids.

I sometimes go back to my time before time
The past was over and the future was yet to begin
All moments since merged in a jumble of living
Slipping like sand through my fingers each day
Could I have known what the future would bring?
All the highs, the lows, the loves and the hates
Does it seem possible that all of this stuff
Just happened to me without reason or rhyme?
But when I look at my boys who weren’t even born
Those unforgettable ripples in the pool of my life
I know then that everything is real and worthwhile.

The moment of capture frozen, red-eyed, real
The playing of children free, magic, mud-filled
The conundrums of youth Beboed, carefree, cool
The adventures of travel, pink, tanned, taciturn
The history of love smiling, promising, pleasures
The marriage of minds trusting, glowing, giving
The responsibility of two eager, anxious, angry
The coldness of career tough, real, redundant
The birth of babies screaming, fragile, forever
The parties of New Year old, new, necessary
The death of life tearful, premature, passive
The optimism of hope fresh, green, growing
The world of pictures captured, mirrored, mine
The memory of forever posed, startled, stunned

Perfected spending ideal day off
Prepared a hot breakfast in bed
Procrastinated Java or Columbia
Perused the paper cover to cover
Perplexed prayer over crossword
Pampered by bath-time bubbles
Phoned almost forgotten friends
Purchased Murakami on Amazon
Polished off a lunchtime martini
Postponed exercise with siesta
Perambulated the beach slowly
Pushed the boat out for dinner
Preferred Barolo to Barbaresco
Panicked - work again tomorrow.