I think of you, early and often
When I wake you tip toe your way across my lips
I think you have unfinished business there
You twist your way into my words, rest easy in my breath
I never meant to soak you in
You tangle your life with mine, like your finger 'round your ribbons of hair
The world around me is ripe with nostalgia
Dripping sticky sweet memories of you, like syrup
You told me if we were born flying, we would spend our lives wishing we could walk
But we flew together
And walking just isnt doing it for me anymore

Preparing the ground
in this fertile mind
putting down roots
with the fervour I’ve found

Digging down deep
planting thought bulbs
hope will rise up
Their green shoots will
abound

Picking petals one by one
Counting every blessing seen
Rainbows on the wooden fence
Still life painted in a dream

Hedges run a distant mile
Shaped as every promise shown
Cutting corners of the lost
Happiness in what is grown

I’m cutting back the choking weeds
of doubt and negativity
And moving on the slugs and snails
that stunt my productivity

With mind over matter
this garden will bloom
this change is organic
and normal service
will not resume
(who wants to be normal
anyway?)

I’ve been sowing seeds
with faith love and prayer
In ground once barren
songs will blossom there

Melodies fragrant and free
Tiny sprouts of grand design
Break the soil seeking light
Flourishing for it is time

*Sing with me my garden friend
Walk along my winding path
Smell the beauty on the wind
Life shall be the aftermath

This is the cardiac line.
Your first stop is the
left atrium.
Passengers alight here for warmth and passion.
Please have your tickets ready worn on your sleeve.
We apologise for any delays. This was due to mixed signals.
You are in coach one of four.
Mind the gap between the heart and common sense.

Beneath the mango tree
death turns slowly -
creaks the branches/
untouchable - the tears
hanging low above the ground -
slowly swinging - no more singing/
beneath the mango tree.

r ~ 5/30/14

inspired by out-dated dreams
lost over half-polished fancy things
collected
owned
sitting now in someone else's home

in a vault
somewhere in some cave
it was too dark
you lost your way

now broken somehow
dying, a plastic man waits
mounting bills to pay
people to ignore
people who simply don't go away
lie in bed and wonder

where do you move when where you're moving from is yourself

(This poem was brought to you by the letter...V!)
She vacuums the worn carpet
Her gaze on the surface vague and vacant
But when you lift the lid
She has been ****** into a vortex
Of whirling cosmic space dust.


She's entered a parallel universe
There her name is Vanessa
And her life's so diverse
By day she announces on
underground trains
  'mind the gap, next stop
Mornington crescent'
Her voice is sweet, virtuous,
clear and efficient
  But by evening her voice has
  more va va voom
She sings sultry jazz
in a smoky back room.
She looks almost the same
Voluptuous lines and a
red haired mane
But gone is any trace of mundane.  

Each verse of song she wraps in a sway of the hips side to side
and a ravishing smile
 And if the audience  try it on
or  become volatile
A valiant handsome trilby wearing
gentleman
Can warn them off  
With a choice few nouns
And vexing verbs
make them run a mile

And after the show
She and the gentleman
Vanish from view
And as their heated passion grows
 They sink down onto A velveteen couch
 exploring her peaks n valleys
With his keen mouth
And she traces his muscles
Vivid veins, v lines
She reaches his peak further south.



Back out of the vortex
And back in the room
She is breathless
And her heart is fast and keen
She has stopped the vacuum
Instead saught solace
In the vibrations of her washing machine