Indian brave, treetop advantage
apple juice lips, palm to palm on
the swings as we breathe in bold
letters and speak in a five point
font, quietly because we're older
the kids should not know about
the lemon tea ways of age and
wisdom, so we muffle our voices
in damp scarves and admire the
way we used to be

When I was young and bold and strong,
Oh, right was right, and wrong was wrong!
My plume on high, my flag unfurled,
I rode away to right the world.
"Come out, you dogs, and fight!" said I,
And wept there was but once to die.

But I am old; and good and bad
Are woven in a crazy plaid.
I sit and say, "The world is so;
And he is wise who lets it go.
A battle lost, a battle won--
The difference is small, my son."

Inertia rides and riddles me;
The which is called Philosophy.

You were lying on your back
on the grass beside Judith
three days after
the start

of the summer holidays
she was talking
about some girl
in her class at school

who wore stockings
instead of socks
and how her mother
thought that

(the wearing of stockings)
was quite too much
too grown up
and you were watching

the formation of the clouds
and how they changed shape
and colouring
becoming darker

then paler
and now and then
a bird would fly
across your vision

and you
only half listening
to her as she spoke
her words

touching your ears
her voice
like a kind of music
there lulling you

and you heard also
in the distance
the sound of a train
its puffing of steam

the sharp sound
of a horn
as it went by
the crossing

somewhere down
the track
but I wouldn’t wear stockings
Judith said

I like fresh air
getting to my legs
you have nice legs
you said

have I?
she said
yes
you said

right up to where
I can’t see no more
and she laughed
and smacked

at your arm
beside her
if my mother
could hear you

she’d not
let me near you again
a rook flew over head
its darkness in contrast

to the blue of sky
if she saw us last Sunday
she’d locked you up
you said

and Judith touched
your hand
next to hers
and held it

she mustn’t know
she whispered
course not
you said

well least not
until you’re fifty two maybe
and she laughed
and her laughter

disturbed the birds
and kind of
dissolved the cloud formation
into blueness

and you loved her
nearness
her touch
her being there

beneath clouds
and birds
and sky
and maybe always will

you thought
until the day we die.

"And I am hurt.
I am pain.
but I walk with raw emotions,
like tethered strings,
wrapped 'round this heart.
and I am strength;
mindless in pursuit.
I walk. I wander.
Knowing what I want,
unsure of your desire.

I'm a puppet on a string,
and you're the unknowing master.

I sing symphonies in my sleep,
driving passion effortlessly.

and as this war rages,
I throw my body in front of you,
with out thought.
Just the rhythm of my love for you,
ringing in my ears.

And there are holes in me,
and it is how it should be.

One thing I regret,
that I failed to make you see,
hang up the strings love,
this is my offering."

I want what I will never have and I have what I could never want.

I look in the mirror and see a man, or what the world says a man should be.
I see strong shoulders and I see eyes that are doing their best not to turn cold.

At times I see a stranger.
A ghost.
A figure that just wants freedom.
But what is freedom?
Is freedom giving up and letting the waves of others carry you away?
Is freedom constantly fighting to stay above water and getting funny looks in the street?
I ask the man in the mirror the same question and he just shakes his head and walks away.
A boy is left standing there.
He gently smiles.