A question that is hard to answer
     he fumbles with his pipe
          taking a long while
                to fill and light
time to think
     a silence he does not want broken
         a record played
              softly
but present
     stopping conversation
         a person he does not like
              his silence
leaving me to fill
     knowing with others
         he has so much to say
              time spent together
learning
    perceptive
        each leaving signs
              the other learns
and in their generosity
    uses
        supporting
             complimenting
giving
    a gift
       time spent wisely

As I sit in my old overstuffed armchair
          and watch the fire
                                       flames rising
                glowing
                         sparks flying
                                              throughout the room
                around me
enclosing me in a circle of diamonds
         light shining off them
                      as if they were fairies
knowing I was in need
                            of  encouragement
            feeling my problem
                     despair
and lifting me on their flight
               carrying me to more exultant plains
     protecting me
               talking to me
                         giving me their strength
before returning to the fire
           wings beating
                    flames moving
and I realise why
          flames dance and sway
                     and are never still
it is the magic of the fairies

Clouds passing overhead
             shapes moving
     story of a life
I lie and watch
     floating by
               where white and blue encounter
        past mingling with future
   woven
      in a present
                      of golden threads
where waves mist
                     showers of sparkling diamonds
             restful
       speaking
perceptions of a melody
     a foundation on which to laze
                pervades my beliefs
          as I watch a blossoming haze
    move across the horizon
          diminishing into remoteness
                            and vanishing into tomorrow

An invitation
       to observe a spectacle of dishes
             laid out with care
each too beautiful to destroy
      and yet the desire to taste too strong
to meet new friends
     conversation on any subject
            but no emotions allowed
all sentiment to be left with your coat
      and collected on leaving
a glass of port
      an exchange of ideas
            feelings evaporating with perfume of cigars
paintings analysed
        books discussed
                poems recited
                        and jokes laughed at
no people present
       privacy to be respected at all costs
              going home to a feeling of emptiness
something missing
        permission to reach out and touch
to know
        and to be known

Enveloped in the leather fireside chair
              perfumed by burning pine logs
      their hiss and rustle a haunting melody
I talk to you
                    in silence
    words
            lit by the glow of flames
swaying in the rhythm of thoughts
      questions asked
               the future ahead
          and present
                   at each of your words
                               the flame of the candle
              moves
forming shapes
           creating shadows
     explanations of expressions
answers given
      but when I leave behind
                                          the oak desk
                  and book lined walls
I am alone once more
          the only question unanswered
                                     is why only there

In the lamplight
       the little girl trudges home
head down
      step weary
                thoughts heavy
                         mind on the past
               of dreams and hopes
      forsaken and realised
thinking how a dream is no longer as good
      when it happens
                           a let down
a prelude of nothingness ahead
             and the effort of forging another goal
      as having none
is the distant tree with no branches
              no balance
nothing for the wind to make music
       and once inside the house
               in her lonely bedroom
she removes her hat and gloves
          putting them carefully away
                 but leaving her coat on the bed
she looks in the mirror
                seeing an elderly lady look back
         with a knowing smile
experienced
        and worldly
and wonders why she took so long
                                                 coming home

Out of the darkness
   the tears came
               humbly at first
        then with increasing pride
    as memories of past justice mounted
              times when the jury was a candle
       burning bright in the darkness
  accused and accusing
having equal time
     the candle marked half way down
            the defence speaking to that deathly mark
       the prosecution the remaining length
  unless
the light gave up before the end
       in that case
             the crime was judged to be true
     guilt was apportioned
               and I was sent to my death