Chronology were neither
at the point of no return
                          or a way back.

What's perplexing in the narrative
is that neither can be changed,
                     as were in neither
but the  momentary



      fluctuation of either

Deteriorated configurations that are
neither of consecutive methods
                                             or contorted reflections,
it's upon the eye line of those who look perplexed.

For what is slumped like tired unimportance,
is neither an inflexible road,
for nothing is
               either invariable or contorted
It's just a view that each takes.

                                Me I'm like the reed,
both woven in a paradox
of motions.
For who sees a contortionist
   that's neither of each
                                     or the other.

Riffling upon the aspects of my decisive
                            displacement that catches
nither the truth or the lie.
  
You  may catch the second,
                        or minute,
        but beyond the mirco filaments
that linger between variable glimpse
that pass.

Is more than constructive  tendrils
           of a lifetime of consequential
amendments or defaming the
              consequential understanding
that nothing plays by the rules..

The voice of many is all one. it doesn't matter
the flavor of our skin with coffee,
                      we milk, were caramel.

Were all different tastes but some think
because our tastes are different
that they can throw the cup down
                             crush it under the knee..

We aren't recyclable we may taste different,
                 but doesn't mean you can crush
any of us under afoot
                                 or knee.

were all in this together if one falls, we all fall..

Well this has a deflating feeling but
                         a pumped upending.  

There was a little one, he was always
kicked around, but they were the best
of times, boot or hand he didn't mind.

Scuff marks marking his features,
   every now and then washed off
Mudd crusted between stitches.

If he felt a little deflated they'd
be positive pumping him up full
of air once again.

It was him and them for a time,
  but it moves on.
He went out less and less,
  it was summer and he went
           out once.
Sitting on the windowsill
wishing to between the blades
of grass. at the end of a foot and
                   a goal post.

Not being kicked and thrown
around, then it got real, he was
put in the shed empty not feeling
the air between his stitches anymore.

Then he heard voices in the back,
   don't worry you have friends,
Were all a little deflated in here?
I think some of us were mislaid.
Forgotten by mistake or we like
to think that. Hi, I'm seasonal, I'm beach.
Now I'm just missing the sunshine.

I got a puncture, I wasn't as floaty
anymore, I was their favorite  seaside
friend, you see they fixed my bobo.
I don't leak anymore, but they didn't
fill me up or throw me again.

I was put in here for another time,
but I only see them when they are
looking for lost things, but not me.

Meet tennis and his sister,
there a right pair, one always going
over the net, the other hoping that  
the other would hit so they could
feel the air bouncing between the
                            racket and them.

The racket was in here, but never talked
just time pulling at his strings,
sagging as if a smile hanging upside down.

We have been in here a while,
  don't know how long, we just
chat about the fun times before.

So they told each other stories wondering
what it would have been to be the other.
Laughing and joking at the possibility
of either hit by a boot or floating so high
in the air,  as if they'd never hit the ground.

Time passed and one day the family all
came to the shed, older than before.

Oh my gosh, I remember you guys..

Mum, I found the beachball, oh my gosh
he's still got his kitty plaster on...
They pumped him up and he went in to
the air, he could feel the heat of the sun,
and it felt right again.

They grabbed me I was a little shrunken,
  And the boy now a man, oh my gosh..
I thought I lost you, they pumped me up.
He did tricks with me, on knee head and
foot, wow he's got better as time passed.

Then racket came out with tennis and his
sister, what shall we do with these,
   Oh' no they thought are going to end up
in the trash.

But they saw racket tightened his strings,
and then the yellow siblings where smacked
against the wall, they smiled at the noise and
the feel of Racket upon them again.

The sun was beaming and everything felt
like before. But then they were put into
the car with other objects, a vase slightly
chipped, but beautiful anyway.
Books, with folded pages, what stories
they could tell us, another time anyway.

We traveled a while, hearing noises
outside, And handed to another,
don't worry we'll find them a new home.
We were put on shelves, price tags stuck
to us, we were left behind pieces that
others didn't want to throw away.
But finding us a new home, racket and the
twins were first to go,
                    at least they weren't separated.

A new face taking them home cuddling,
holding them tight, a home was found.
Then it was beaches turn, a little girl with
her mummy, she saw the kitty plaster and
was smitten. She threw him in the air
i could see him smile at the thought of
once again being thrown again.

Me I was the last, I was asleep didn't even
realise that I'd even been sold.
Rudley awoke to a foot in my face.
what the, and I could feel the air between
my fibers, I could see children and more
of me being kicked around.

I was among others as laughter and glee,
as we were kicked and thrown, it felt like
home again, not the one before but a new
one I was inflated and gliding between posts,
back of the net, and out again.

Home is where ever you feel needed,
and never let yourself feel deflated as
we are all useful in our own way.

I have to go as I have fourteen children
chasing after me, and there I go.
boot to me and in the air, I fly again.

He was young, and by that hardly
able to shave, they thought he
was arrogant, not brave beyond his years.
   But he knew that sacrifice for what
                     was just and right.

He sailed the sea, throwing up overboard
                    feeding the fishes.


Never taking the bus, young ones
crying missing home.
But don't take their tears for cowards,
                they fell like petals fighting a worth.

But for him,  he'd rather walk showing worth.
           His mother, she cried,
bro, staying strong while I'm away.
Taking the burden of home cos too younger to follow.
He'd said if I fall,
                                    know I did it for us not me.

Poppy was on my chest, as we fought,
       We  had three brothers, they smoked
and joked but anyone from the other side played us,
                         they'd put across in his chest.
Dead but respected, no one buried but anger
                                                and respect blurred.

We lost henry to a ******, couldn't  bury,
just put a petal on his chest.
   We teared up, as we walked on,
took his angel out clipped their wings
    they ain't taking anyone with them.

Henry earned his petal, as we looked back,
         but we walked on.
Across broken buildings and bodies,
   we respected everyone we passed.

Sign of the cross, move on friend
                   and enemy you're at rest.
We carried our guilt of henry over the hill,
                            but then an injured soldier.
Delerium had taken hold, Allen got a knife
between the ribs, pierced his heart before his
next beat he was dead.

The soldier crying thinking he'd saved us,
    Allen had a tear falling on his dismayed features.
                  Edwin punched him in the face,
but we held him back.
            He gathered his composure noting that
this wasn't his fault.

We said thank you for your sacrifice, and he pasted,
                            Edwin gave him a swift kick.
  What he'll not feel it, I know the confusion
but Allen was his friend.

We put a petal on his chest closed his eyes
so he didn't see the rest of the war
                       with eyes wide open.

After this, I and Jeffery were called back for the
the final push, on the beach of gold and blood.
  We looked at each other and shook hands as
                       the boards fell, we ran, I must rewrite
this as we were the first to land and Jeffery was
the first to fall, he was my last brother, I just stopped.

They were treading upon me, but all I could see was my
friend's smile, grinning at deaths touch, proud he was here.
Seeing the fear and pride in his eyes as a single
tear fell. I picked myself up and put a petal on him.

Thinking this was my last day, a petal left on my
chest if I fell who would put one upon me.
   Nevertheless, we won the day. I have scars.
              physical and mentality I lost a lot.

Got home, saw my girl she was grown up,
             happy that my love waited for me,
We lived a long life, we had more than one
         who gave us pride.

2020 I lived through another century,
    Standing proud, as I lift a palm straight
                                            to my brow.
A single petal still standing proud,
                 As I gaze I see three figures approach,
pinning the other three petals upon my chest.

They raise there hands and swipe,
                          you respected our fallen.
And on every petal was a message and a name.
     You gave everything to them and now we give it back.


I cried tears as when I looked beside me,
                        my friends were there smiling.

And we stood to attention,
                              for our lives and deaths.
We saw what was and the sacrifice of what
                           we all paid the price for,


                                                          ­     Freedom

Intervals depicted by woefully
                        stark sights.

Tombstone branches drape
              over the division
of essence.

That now clings to the earth,
  moved on by the breath around.


I see them grazing in the air,
a corpse  of what was warm.

Now showing the frigidness
                          of what is upon us.

Mourning the beauty of what was,
         and I look up at the tombstone
branches in reverence.

Awaiting the time when life wavers
          above me once again.

And then I will smile, for now,
       I slumber within my

stark contemplations.

labyrinths of interwoven
                            time..

Cling on the dawn of morrow.
       unseen until the rigor of seasons.

I gaze out and splendor at the
     entanglement interlaced
before my eyes,

                            and smile.