Heron, old clinker built wooden boat
once rode the sea all round about
now she is permanently beached
a slow rotting down into the garden
with wildflowers peeking o'er her bow
where waves used to crash and splash
salty sea no longer to test her strength
all battles over, but she still rides the winds.

Snip
The cord was cut
I held you in one hand
Then a stimulator
Called an incubator

Right now
I'm holding on to you
For dear life

Bike riding
Through the twist and turns
We're hiding

You take risks
I would never do
But I have faith
We'll get through

Then I'm into the moment where
There's no moments
Zen

Saccharine and sanguine
the allure of a pink tummy
I reach out to rub and squish
but then I'm halted.
Daggers for hands,
I'll be bleeding again,
but the brief soft touch
may just be worth it.

it does not matter
what they say

if they say
you are crazy
smile

if they say
you are a dreamer
smile

if they say
you have lost touch with reality
smile

if they say
you cannot write
let your words flow

HOPE AND DESPAIR

Come ! Colorful and wild --
like a summer sky, light
stretching shadows long
as possiilities, mixing tints
that fill the day – sunbeams
on the floor, a mirror’s
sudden flash of gold.

Another dawn, another life,
another maybe to be lived,
the means to find the way
through.

Some effervescence caught
in light, the offspring of
a magic formula to see
the star inside the breast,
a small miracle.

Fragments of time come
and go, remembered or
not, and the present,
offered one minute,
taken away the next
when past and future
crowd in like unwanted
guests.

A fountain of wishes,
hopes and regrets,
the unstoppable flow
of feelings, past unchanged,
future unknown, only
the notes of now : bird song,
the splash of waves, the whisper
of the breeze, to comfort with
their gentle symphony the
weary heart.

Between ifs and whys,  
Life's questions softly whisper,  
Truths in doubt arise.