There's something's not quite right
Isn't there!
Isn't there?
There's something gone awry.
A picture that's not perfect
Or too good.......
A picture that's been airbrushed.

The case notes? Where are they?
There's pages missing from the bundle.
Bungle?
Rumbled?
Not a chance!

Who knows the way?
Who has the say and makes the rules?
Are we the fools
Who want it nice?
Sugar and spice and meek as mice.

Don't look twice. Don't glance behind, beneath
The sheath that shields the blade
That sliced its way
To reach the mountain top
Where sit the gods-
So puny, pale and pouting.

Oh look. They're shouting now
There's prying going on and peering
Hark! They're swearing. Profanities or oaths?
'You plebs! You oafs! And ' How dare you!s'
Float down from thrones
And pleas and groans and moans.

And all goes quiet
Shh! Not a word
Don't rock the boat.
Sleepy dogs drop off to sleep again
And little men creep up the hill
In full view.

Once upon a time there was a man who fed on other people's fears.
He soaked them up, he seasoned them with myth and stirred them up for years.
The stew he made was glutinous. It clung
To one's intestines and it stank like dung.
The gaseous mess oozed venomous stink
That fuddled minds and made it hard to think.

This fog of hatred , fear and false report
Made careful thought
Impossible for some,
But others battled on.
They had begun in youth a search for clarity and truth
And soldiered on through media hype and politician's babble,
Ignorance and greed ( the fodder of the rabble and the man it loved; the man who spoke for it,
The man who made it fine to hate).
He promised all a blissful state where each would live and call his own
A paradise that he could have alone
For who would share it?
Who could share?

The glass was full; a heady mix of labour, love and rearing
He drank from it he sailed the ship and knew where it was heading.
The potent brew kept spirits high and eyes upon the horizon
With swelling seas, a threatening sky and no-one to rely on.
The storms came in and shook his faith, but he ploughed on regardless
Mislaid the way, lost sail, made new and hoped that he could harness
A kindly wind, a clearer sky, and strength within to reach the shore
To give that future strength and courage he'd been hoping for.

Put down the sails and drain the glass. that journey's at its end.
This new one takes a different path: that crystal glass needs cleaning.
In harbour now: no roles to play. You've time to spend
On seeing clear, through spotless glass and searching for some meaning.

There is a spot wherein I sit
A spot of light from high above
A spot of love.

It is a place that's everywhere
Within, without
A place to share.

There is a place where I can go
That's anywhere for me and so
I make it mine.

But it is there for everyone
Is now, was then, will be.
A place that's home for me.

A place where I can know myself
And know that I am part of all:
Of them of you, of those to come
And those who went before.

Sometimes the walls and windows of my house
Have been just that.
Four surfaces to keep the cold at bay
a pod with gas and water, light and heat:
A small spacecraft
Permanently in dock.
And outside trees grow and flowers bloom.

Just walls, just painted walls
A shelter - just prettier than a hut
and more expensive.
Rushes,l ino or **** pile
A candle , gas or leckie
And giant windows cannot mask the confinement.

The changing tree is home, the birds that come and go,
Sun that oozes, wind and battering rain.
Passing chatter and the train's distant hoot
Paper my walls and paint my doors
Light my ceilings and carpet my floors.

Are you putting on a show?
Playing a part
Or
Standing in the wings?

'Life's not a rehearsal ', they say.

Are you hogging the limelight
Stealing the show
Or making an entrance?

'The play's the thing.' They say.

Did you learn your lines?
Can you live the role?
Have you the right props
To make an entrance?

'The show must go on.' They say.

Or are you in the chorus, strutting your stuff
In step with the rest?
Or in the audience
Clapping and stomping?
Or scribbling?

It's a short run.

Sunset Harbour
Built to mock an Andalucian village
Hewn from rock
And filled with sand from Saudi Arabia.
We sit between reception and the pool
Stars shine,but not as brightly as the streetlights on the distant hills.

Our host is singing,'Penny Arcade' and up she's got;
The penny's In the slot.
Let the magic begin!
Our marionette awakes.

Short curled hair
Sponge bob body in a purple dress with flat triangles at the *******.
Little chicken feet lift in time to the music as she covers the space
Between reception and the pool.
Arms akimbo, hands waving and excited at the release.

Laughing, he takes his place,with portly belly thrusting forward
Arms bent and elbows jutting, chin thrusting forward to the music;
A cockerel to her chick.

Corner to opposite corner they dance,
Grinning at each other as they pass
Sometimes chasing
Sometimes. Backing off;
An Oldham Tarrantella
A Salford tango
A well - trod mating ritual
And still a joy to watch.