Here she is she is she is!
My wordy wordy baby
A gurgling delight
Of diverse messy
Life.
Almost ready for whatever
you may bring...

Yes
She's a poem
She's a song
She won't be here too long,
But she can sing,

And all for you.

Words are dangled, shown distant
To me
A hint of pattern
Links
And music
Perhaps.

Have I the strength or will to walk towards them?
In the swirls of life noise,
Litter distracts my feet
And in itself, might form..
Maybe another poem..?

That's the trouble
And the glory
You never get there.

Good.

She sits behind her screen
With few words for me, lying
Barely in her presence.
We both wait
We both hear constant wind
From massive fans some rooms away
But they have taken all the stuff
For air to ruffle – no leafy movement to distract
From thoughts of what I owe
To all not here.  
So, still this room for now -
Like a pothole, really
Where the only thing ruffled, usually, is me.
(All these tunnels look alike to some)


Now - wheeling in to shelving thick with labels.
Green gowns, short words each to each.
"Rapid induction for this one please, John."
And with a green mask and cold sharp
To the back of my left hand,
I fall back from the world into...

Gone.

Coming down the carriage with her coffee, tea and name badge,
She LOOKS like an Emelia.
Serious and quite beautiful in some ways
In her dark skirt
Her keys that hang and jingle
Her expression of slightly resentful concentration -
A miniscule pursing of the lips as she pours
- She was not made for this.
She was once a princess.

She still is.

The lyric life arising larks from you
In mornings evenings
Days of yellow leaves
And roads of
Dark and wet

But light and fortitude of lightness come from words
Spoken
With wings.

I owe a poem to that sloping road and gate
Outside the doctor's waiting in the sunshine.
The bare trees, cars and few people
Waited too.

Just a Monday morning
Outside the doctor's.
- Just a gentle kiss from the World
In the sunshine.

There are salvations in staring at the joins in the blocks of the rocks.
Like a fire from denial too long of that crouched and smouldering
In the learnt importance of crossing roads.
Importance that will not allow a life
Afterwards
But - maybe we can say - in the midst of getting and spending
Wrench yourself away
To stand still and stare at the stones
That way sanity lies....
Far away from boredom
And fearful cold to start with
- but not boring.

And *** - what of that?
Like walking on the fell naturally grows to a run...
For fun
For more than that
Where it all Comes together?!
yes - indeed.  
Intensity of staring with eyes shut in passion
The glorious arc -  
That commands the eye away from fragile later worlds
That may or may not be...