I am standing here, staring into a dim horizon
while the wind sighs past, eternal and uncaring,
bearing with it the tattered remnants of poems,
legion in their number, forgotten and left to fade
away and be taken by the wind. With every step
I make, across this cold and grey place, words
are crushed beneath my feet, their meanings
failing, as they rise and take their places, within
that wind of empty promises, of broken loves and
hollow sighs. I lift my gaze, up from the dust of
my creation, rising slowly and with the grace of
gentle death. I see the horizon there, see it
glowing unconcernedly with the light of a thousand
thousand thoughts, and swaying gently with the
bubbling waves of happy joy, swaying with their
laughter, with their tears and quiet sorrows. We stand
here forgotten, the old and faded words and I, watching
Witt an envy dulled by time and the ever present wind.
We are watching, they and I, as we too, at last are faded away,
eroded by the constant wind, and the hollow sighs of forgotten
words as they rise to join that lonely wind, bleak with the dying
dust of a thousand thousand words, and their sorrows,
as they pass.

I hear the waves rushing, hear them sighing in and
out, with the currents and the tides and the ever present
moon. A salty breeze brushes past, soft and fleeting, as that
last and gentle kiss, before you broke and said goodbye, and
left me standing there, beneath the glowing moon. The great
fronds of the giant palms rub together in the wind, and whisper
of untold secrets, hidden since the beginning, and of the pain of
a lover lost. The seagulls scream, mournfully their cries, echo down
to me, and remind me of the time, when my heart was still fresh
broken, and I wept 'neath starry skies. I am silent now. I am listening.
Waiting for her merry laughter, for her softly padding feet, carrying
her to me, back to me, across the sands of time and grief. I am waiting.
Come back to me my ever-love, come back to me.
Please?

Thoughts of then when days were slow
When young boys beards refused to grow,
When girls were cute with big round eyes
And innocence was no surprise.
When that old grocer rearranged
To slip you extra…plus the change,
When ten bucks spent would purchase gas
And guarantee the trip plus cash.
And postmen…how they never missed
Despite those storms and gales that ******.
And sun that shone with heat that earned
That golden tan which never burned,
Sweet songs were sung with golden voice
When radio was ours by choice.
Ripe apricots, right off the tree
Made such a juicy mess of me,
And apple pie was Sunday’s best
When first those chores had passed the test.
People nodded passing bye
And chose to smile and meet the eye.

Thoughts of then when days were slow
When young boys beards just wouldn’t grow.

Thoughts of then with honest grace
When dignity depicted pace,
Where simple pleasures held the key
For a kinder… happiness to be.

M.

All through the night she works, tireless, never ceasing to spin her silken thread

The perfect creation of nature's lace. A new silken shimmering
web

No hand of man could ever produce such a perfect work
Of art

With all the computers and modern technology we wouldn't know where to start

A silken thread floating on air is gathered up and put in its
place

All this in the darkness without pattern or plan she creates natures
beautiful lace

Each silken strand is stronger than steel, stronger than anything man could produce

All this from a spider spinning a web, silk made from natural
juice

With the coming of dawn and a new rising sun a sight that is sure to amaze

Every tree, every bush, every gate post
Draped in a gown of gossamer lace...

It's midnight in the city, a gently falling rain, just the odd car passing, the distant rumble of a train

I sit here and listen to the creatures of the night, listen because I can't see them, they stay out of sight

One sounds stands out above the rest, continually it's heard. Even in the darkest hours the singing of a bird

I know not what she looks like, is she colourful or drab? Well I don't really care that much because her songs are never sad

All night she sings while others sleep, her songs so loud and clear, bringing happiness in the darkness to all who are there to hear

Why does she sing her sweet refrain through the long hours of the night? Perhaps she sings for those of us who have to stay awake

Then come the early morning light and a mighty choir is heard, no human intervention just a choir of singing birds

It's with reluctance that I must leave this place with the coming of the light. But later I'll be back again to hear her singing through the night