your bare shoulders remind me of a packaged holiday
to a far off destination.
Your blonde hair denotes tender promises,
that I should now be with you,
due south on a whim
matching the open canvas of your
guided by your slender turns.
Your smile scatters wide,
as the sun shines beholding
your always tomorrow.
Enthralled by sincerity
by the strolling grass
and erstwhile desire
we've motioned high.
Need your kindness to share a kiss
as your yellow dress blows
like a deft daffodil,
your auburn pony tail
and laced plimsolls
are all summer
like a girl guide out to picnic
who needs a parasol
to shield her freckles
and those bumble bees
sharing the carrrot cake.
What good is Victoria now?
currently on schedule
the logic of SW1 follows
the real estate of the concrete
office blocks turning luxuriate habitation
a new class to wade the hues
of practised entitlement
which doesn't have to be gatEd
iron will makes for a conceriege ,
based on the accepted provision
we have been usurped
see the dark swan grow.
whose space is it now?
Peter the cat looked beyond the window box
with daffodils wistfully swaying,
on Sunday the factory's
vacant parking lot,
behind leyandii hedging
had the potential of shielding mayhem
in this ever contrite world.
Peter potentially free as a wanderer
sees the pigeons,
in the yard -
his speculative form
gives a wide berth
whiskers working overtime
he senses unforseen danger,
reynard appears from around the corner,
and he stays at home
Kippers and toast for breakfast,
washed down by a fairtrade Ceylon,
eagerly anticipating the Christain Aid appeal
through my letter box.
Aware of others earthly disengage
their morning monotony flickers through their lounge,
consummate hypocrites watching the repeat soap operas,
the profundity of their silence radiates through to the adverts.
as they had a cause too,
until its auto recluse with the
the news slot borders on paranoia
a dent to exclusivity.
Silence is a body strong
books may split
stems for the breaking,
now is the time
to hold our thoughts
carrying the folding chair of burden,
saying what's right
at the time
when needless pause may see us prevaricate.