This is where it will happen
I know
I can see it
There is something connecting
With me
Old
New
A deja vu
A you knew who
Steps are familiar
The light hits the floor in a way
That does not surprise me
Or fascinate me
Catching dust drifting

So there is this
Shadow
Whistling
Walking between dark places
Following
Tracking
But never connecting
A glance of his profile
Stirs a memory
But not a strong one
A summer hazed
Warm water
Recollection
Not damaging
Or spiteful

It’s ivy;
classic palmate lobes,
invasive
substrating you
totally
gripping grabbing
combining and climbing
through you
in you
and around you

It’s ivy;
removal fraught
with complications
without treatment
it will smother you
growing through your
lungs and eyes
stealing away your life force
naturally
yet unnaturally
brutally
yet gradually

It’s ivy;
rip away the tendrils,
superficial salvation
Roots and knots
woody and substantial
in you
Occupying your spaces
invading
pervading
all that is you
within and without
of your skin

It’s ivy;
evergreen
drinking draining
your air and water
Rapaciously
Disgracefully
and as I write
I'm still unsure
which metaphor
I was trying for;
love
Malignant Neoplasm
Or just sadness

Anthropogenic artefacts
Heart attacks
hearts attacked
Dead calm gyre
Tide line debris
You and me
and I
Beach combing
the detritus
of us
and them
and they
Invasive spaces
hidden faces
aroma of decay
Kicking over seaweed mounds
Lost and founds
Seeking out sun sparkled jewels
the aroma of decay
the plastic looks like ruby
the netting gossamer light
life moves amongst the mass
massing moving living
and dying
I save one shell
to liberate the memory
To fix it
in the opalescent bisque
pocketed
treasured
that tide line
left behind remains
from us
all of us
Everyone tries
amongst the stinking tangle
of uselessness
of spoil
to see the value
to seek and love the life
appreciating
interpreting
beauty in our tideline
Personal life left overs
the things we leave behind
left behind
beached beyond doubt
dried beyond quenching
Those hours
objects
people and places
those cruel elements
took away
Stripped from us
only to dispose of them
because they could
because we could not stop them
Tide line
physical
metaphorical
epitomized by those eyes
that shell
the reason
why walking on beaches
makes us feel better

The young will know what to do
They always do
with their inate sense
of now
to act, react or start again
As needed

The young will speak up soon
They always did
permissions irrelevant
finding new angles
clearly seeing
that there is more to life than

Gods and Tigers
but not that much
They will set the new tempo
carve themselves some sense
from our nonsensical inheritance
In them I trust

When I was a cat
I slept too often
Walked away
And never really thanked you

When I was an orchid
I bloomed and faded
Promised much
And revelled in my rarity

When I was a wave
I broke hearts on the shore
Moved sand
And probably disappointed

When I was an apple
I ripened and then fell
Rotted slowly
And was never shared

When I was a candle
I burned bright and short
Lost form
And ended on your finger tip

And when I was a young man
I slept too often
Promised much
Probably disappointed
Was never shared
And ended on your finger tip

I am next to you
on the kerb side
about to happen
I’m in your sleep
latent and patient,
inevitable
I am in the water
about you
waiting to envelop
rinse and silence you
I am the bullet
anonymous and inert
until decisive
And I am the spark
the word
the reason
the consequence
Undiagnosed
and undetected
I'm not your nemesis
don’t expect me
But I will be
So don’t predict me
or hate me