You said to me the other day
There's only me and you
But babe I need to tell you
I'm only passing thru

You say I saved you from yourself
And perhaps it's true
But remember when I say
I'm only passing thru

It's gonna hit you 'cos you see
You'll need somebody new
You're gonna come to realise
I'm only passing thru

Passing thru, passing thru,
What I say is true
Babe did I tell you
I'm only passing thru

If you have eyes that hang lanterns in mid-air
and smooth skin where your wrinkles sleep,
and a broken heart where you come from…
mending rivers with tears and old photographs
of antique cameras encased in opal coral
on a seabed of shipwreck and silt...

If you pause to reflect and the mirror
needs a minute to adjust to the absence
of your vanity… and all your coats
smell of wet dog rescue and soup kitchen
and your god is a living thing
that knows why you ask questions
that have answers
but you just like the sound of love’s voice…
so you pretend politely.
and pray for real.

then let my mind tick. to imagine thee
in all your wondrous oddity
allow me the privilege of adoration
and a moment alone
to caress your wings
with all the tenderness of a wish
without a name.

and i’ll abide.

I write poetry, least that’s my aim;
enjoy the challenge: think it a game.
Although some follow rigid rules
I tend to think that’s for fools,
and break them as and when it suits.
This is one of the literary pursuits
which I enjoy, for it suits me well,
as fans of mine will often tell.
Others of a different persausion find,
I’m possessed of a deviant mind.
When a phrase or a single word
I’ve used, is seemingly absurd -
perceived within my poetic lines,
you should take note of subtle signs,
for you’ll find my intent oft changes direction.
It's best you read my words with circumspection;
knowing all may not be as it first appears,
when perceived rationale ostensibly disappears.
When this leaves the reader wondering “What?”
Further reading suggests that what they’ve got
are random meanderings of a Polyglot,
or a deviant wordsmith, like as not!
But it’s my way as a perverse Poet,
possessing some acumen, and subtle wit,
who uses allusive methods to lead
and delude, those who blindly read
each word as though twas cast in stone!
Be aware, every word used, I hone
keenly to achieve my desired effect!
Being critical of all the words I select,
is vital that each one fulfills my aim.
Being pernickety, is to me, a game
that fulfills a purpose. By this exercise
I achieve satisfaction, and can fantasize
about reactions I might possibly receive!
Ergo!!  My purpose, is simply to deceive!

Rhymer.  July 10th, 2018.

Does love make fools of us?
or loneliness?
Perhaps they hold hands
and skip around like two idiots
in puddles of tears
and sad mud