Without you……

Loneliness is a selfish word
In empty corridors and cold beds
But I have never felt so close to you
I can feel your smile soft caress closeness
Distance is a nanosecond in light speed loving
Sleepy Sunday waking wanting wishing
Sad dreams now pastoral pleasures
Desire the reality of past love
Happiness beckons hope

…with you soon

Reflections of Saturday night by the pool bar
Fans cannot cool the Christmas sticky heat
South Pacific beers in Port Moresby cool
Raskols in the streets and Indian in the Palazzo
Friendly staffs serve apartheid ex-patriots
Sunday diving in the deep blue sea
America is almost always yesterday
Europe is night and sometimes day
Home seems very far away today.

Weekend beckons as work crazy week ends
Winter fire, relaxed dinner, wine warm glow
Couch cosy snuggle, TV moving wallpaper
Later virtual dog and neighbour walk to pub
Bar wisdom sets the world to rights again
Depression, recession is one drink less
Striding home in no worries happy haze
Warm bed snuggles with my best girl
Week ends wonderfully again.

Like a still small voice in an empty room,
The quiet nightmare of my lonely bed intrudes,
Remembering our togethers, now so far away,
Staring into the darkness at a hungry mosquito,
My endless hunger that only you can assuage,
His endless hunger a ****** angry morning itch
Absence makes the heart grow fonder methinks.

Taxi from El Alto spirals towards the clogged streets
A thousand metres down from hell to high-rise
Thanksgiving in America a daily struggle in Bolivia
Street lamp effigies signal certain death to thieves
Two bodies on road surrounded by yellow tape
Hombres sleep-like stillness an uncovered curiosity
This morning neither knew it would be their last
Fifty police listen to chief behind mahogany lectern
Death brings them 15 minutes of news-time fame
Cars and peasants pass by with unheeding speed
Is death the end or just another part of life in La Paz?

After three drinks, I sit and focus
On the night in Santo Domingo,
Like Greene’s Honorary Consul,
It is “the right measure” for me,
Beckett reads Beckett remembering.
Where he strips man’s inexhaustible
Search for meaning to bare bones.


These thoughts aided by a smooth
Handmade cigar and Carlos Primero,
I wonder as I focus on this scrap of
Scribbles should I keep it, or leave it
On the table, for some ***** to read,
While he smokes the dog-end of
What was a reasonably good cigar?

Dinner, Dafney hot, courtyard cool and civilized,
Fettuccini fabulous, guest glamorous and glowing,
Eyes starlike smiling, pulpo carpaccio savoured.

Reality will bite in next week’s  jungle game.
Imagination runs riot, perfect picture of dinner
For ants, ambling in forbidden places, ouch.

Coiffeurless, bad-hair-day, dishevelled demon,
Boredom, book, arachnophobia perhaps, escape.
Red carpet missed, pampering needed, tranquilo.