Looking down
I pull out the chair,
the two empty cups
still where they were left,

spoons on saucers,
granules of sugar spilt
all over the gingham cloth,
with a few drops of coffee;

I watch them leaving
arm in arm, smiling,
so in love;

The mess aside
I picked a good table,
shaded from the sun,

Café con leche por favor
I ask,
as the waiter clears away
the lovers conversation.

What sweeter day
than to walk the way
of rolling summer hills,

where lavender scents
your every step and white
blossoms linger still,

what sweeter sound than
the running stream where
ripples splash and spray,

and melodies of birdsong
travel with you all the way.

I stroll the shores of washed up dreams
where waves of indecision scream,
driftwood flotsam lost forever
torn and scattered no more tethered.

Despairing depths of darkness beckon
cast away from bounds of reason,
set adrift from all that mattered
floating lost a soul so shattered.

Washed up dreams and sunken hopes
now barely finding ways to cope,
I stroll the shores of indecision
searching signs of life’s lost wisdom.

And now that death has found him
feel not cold towards his heart,
forget the words you never spoke
forget the years you grew apart;
See not contempt that closeness bred
recall those early loving days,
dwell not the times of stale and pain
´twas only life got in the way.

Sit at night beneath the stars
recall the twinkle in his eyes,
see the man that he once was
before the aged face and lines,
see him in his younger day
not the one that he became,
see the man that you first loved
before “life” got in the way.

Look and find that youthful smile
the smile that won your heart,
years of change had taken toll
but his love for you did not depart;
So now that death has found him
don´t despise what he became,
you altered him to suit yourself
so there´s only you to blame,

for he did not want to change.

It was all for the love of poetry
his love of the rhyming word,
in the library he searched hopefully
for sonnets and poems by the bard.

He could see the book he wanted
it was high up on the shelf,
it was the biggest book he spotted
the complete works of the bard himself.

There were no steps or stools at hand
no way to reach his treasured find,
so he jumped and tried to grab the band
that was hanging from its spine.

He pulled the band with all his might
the giant book it fell like lead,  
and the complete works of Shakespeare
came down and landed on his head.

Yes! Shakespeare killed my best friend
he brought him to his end,
not with sword or dagger
but with every word he ever penned.

The day started with birdsong
somewhere in the far distance
of my sleepy half conscious state.

Trying hard to pull myself from this
deep slumber into the new day
is a fight I think I maybe loosing.

I yawn and stretch my way onto
the terrace half blinded by the morning
sunshine but gloved in its warmth.

The hills look so beautiful and lush
dotted with white houses and cortijos
randomly nestled between the olive trees.

The Martins are following red leader
one in their amazing aerobatics around the
red tiled rooftops and terracotta chimneys.

The sky is a blue that Dulux blues can
only dream of being and the absence of
clouds only adds to the days beauty.

My eyes follow a buzzing wasp that is
searching for whatever it is that will make
his day, and I sip my tea enjoying the sun.

The day continues with bird song, sunshine
and that... it´s great to be alive feeling,
think I´ll put it all into words.

A bugle sounds reveille
on another freezing morn,
boots are frozen solid
and the coldness bites to core,
grunts and groans of tied men
forcing eyes to see,
the razor stings and mess tins sing
for steaming dark brown tea.

Weapons cleaned and loaded,
breakfast, stomachs full,
then all line up in silence
ready for the whistles call,
one last read of letter
once more kiss the photograph,
a silent prayer to calm the nerves
and with mates, an empty laugh.

Another freezing morning
that was bound to take its toll
on the brave naive and frightened,
the lads that were too young to fall,
in foreign fields frost dusted
turned red with blood from those
who knew not what the fight was for,
same on both sides... I do suppose.