the colours of the city hummed red and blue and green
the sounds glowed bright and dark, and all things in between
the sights smelled warm and wonderful
the smells both old and new
I sat perched like a hummingbird
taking in the view.

a happy little bumblebee, flew smiling to and fro
the gardener who never quit, he made the flowers grow
his work impressed his happiness, the harder that he tried
he was the best until one day, he stung a squirrel and died

the wind sat still,
like a guitar
unplayed.
while the trees
sighed in the warmth
of the day.
the hazy ground
glowed bronze
with the heat.
and the children all
sank quiet in
defeat.
nothing was friendly
about that
midsummer’s day.
no one wanted more
than for the sky
to turn grey.
but the sun just
pounded on the
drum of the earth.
and the children cried
for winter, and the cold
that they deserved.

a dimpled smile,
a sideways grin
we sit a while,
all folded in
to paper cranes
that fly quickly
I’ll fly away
and you’ll fly with me

thinking thinking
never got better
thinking thinking
could have been worse
thinking thinking
a blue woolen sweater
thinking thinking
a matching red purse

her reflection whispered back at her
though clenched teeth and tight jaw
“you never will be good enough”
then picked out every flaw
she cried at her reflection
who she knew was always right
then she cried at herself again
slept another sleepless night

over thinking leads to sinking
just relaxing floats your boat
there’s no success brewed from great stress
clear your mind to stay afloat.

a quarter cup of friendship
yields half a cup of smiles
a bakers’ dozen leaves you set for life
just a dash of experience
mixed with your own style
leaves this recipe with no wrong, and no right

the day she outgrew her yellow shoes
was the day her mother said not to cry
was the day she learned she’d never fly
was the day she learned of real goodbyes
the day she outgrew her yellow shoes

my heart is something I can’t hold onto
it flies away with the breeze
and if I reach out my hand to catch it
it just sits quiet on my sleeve
and it has a bad habit of breaking
though I put it together with glue
that heart doesn’t like what my head says
which leaves me just tired and confused

A strum. A hum.
That’s all it takes.
To make the heart start beating.  
A note. A hope.
The mind’s embrace.
Of moments oh so fleeting.
A star. A jar.
Of rusted pennies:
Change to change the sound.
A smile. Sundial.
The music makes
The lost become the found.

her thoughts were old wheelbarrows
too full and broken down
from over use and old abuse
which wrinkled up her frown
yet they wheeled around in circles
and made her temples burn
she closed her eyes and her weary mind
lay cold and overturned

windy whirrs, flying birds
darkened lights, clouded nights
whiter snow, seeds that grow
growing sound, world spins round

collecting bits of memories
left hanging in a row
gathering the sunlight
as they're swinging to and fro
and counting on an abacus
the time we've left to spare
for making more of memories
to hang up in the air

today I drew a girl
with long brown curly hair
but I had to etch her out
for I was tired of her stare
the girl lived in a perfect world
she had a perfect life
there was no pain or anger
or bitterness or strife
and since she saw my secrets
she I couldn’t trust
she wrinkled up her perfect nose
and looked back with disgust
she looked right through my grand facade
pulled back the heavy curtain
she riddled out my clockwork
and knew I wasn’t certain
she saw my mind was clouded
from all in this rainy world
all the thirst and hunger
the girl quickly unfurled
she saw the fear and hatred
the terror and the scare
all of varying grandeur
plaguing everywhere
and she saw right through my crooked smile
all though my cup was filled
it still was full of emptiness
and that disgusted her
she wondered why I worried
as she looked right through my eyes
at my mediocre problems
in my easy sailing life
and she knew that I was selfish
as all people seemed to be
and laughed at all my problems
so small, yet huge to me
but what she didn’t understand
is that sometimes we get stuck
for sometimes, in all out lives
people run out of luck
so no matter how tiny
so small our troubles seem
you can’t treat them proportionally
for all problems are real
today I drew a girl
with long brown curly hair
I could feel her look right at me
with her penetrating stare
and in her world, she was perfect
but that could never be
she was drowned in her own prejudice
so much, she couldn’t see
so tired of the perfect girl
who pretended not to care
I etched out her judgement
and her agonizing stare

stitching and mending
repairing my ending
so I don’t rip at the seams
stitches and stitches
and then the past switches
it shines down like yellow sunbeams

the girl in the blue sweater laid ribbons on the sand
to count all the hours she’d been here
the girl in the blue sweater held out her hand
as a bowl to catch her tears
the girl in the blue sweater slept where sea became land
let the water swallow her fears
the girl in the blue sweater thought ‘oh how life is grand’
then slept for a thousand years

hold the applause.
let us believe ourselves, first.
we knew all along
that we were not the worst.
but better than they?
we could not have thought.
now all of our doubts
we have forgot.
savour it.
the moment.
savour.

red, orange, yellow
an ordinary fellow
running through life
not savouring it all
green, blue, purple
just jumping over hurdles
he only keeps his chin up
to make sure he doesn’t fall

the daisy or the rose?
doesn’t matter what you chose.
one will wilt no matter what you do.
the blue sky or blue sea?
caught you’ll always be.
stuck between his brown eyes, and his blue…

pretending that she was the rain,
she looked outside the window
to keep herself from staying sane,
she dreamed of couldn’t be’s
she laughed and pinned up in a row,
the rest of her tomorrows
but, she knew she’d never know,
so just stared out, wistfully

I prance about my bedroom floor
I wish I could go back for more
for another moment I’ll adore
and see what future lies in store
there is no way I can be bent
there is no reason to lament
for all the time that I have spent
has lead me to be quite content

count the raindrops
breathe the air
tread the water
let down your hair
bask in the sunlight
laugh and play
be free and happy
seize the day

I want to be the quiet girl
   who every boy falls in love with.
I want my sideways smile
   to steal the hearts
   of anyone who steals a glance
   at it from the side.
I want to be fragile,
   so that people want to
   take care of me
   as soon as they see me
   with my knees curled up
   on a chair that is too big.
I want to be the stuff of novels,
   and of films,
   and of love songs
   whose melodies are
   picked out on a guitar.
I want the idea of me
   to be so delicate
   and so alluring
   that I’ll never have to worry
   about being hurt.
I want to be a beautiful
   heart breaker -
   the one that they tell their
   brothers, mothers, and sons about.
I want to be
   what they describe as
   the best thing that ever happened
   to them.
I want to be
I want to be
I want to be all the things I’m not.

cast away the sorrow,
she did
stopped regretting the tomorrows.
her worries in a jar
the lid
locked tight with gold keys borrowed.

he couldn't reach the top shelf
so he asked it of his brother
but brother was too busy to go help
he couldn't reach the top shelf
so he asked it of his mother
but mother had too much to do as well
father was 'preoccupied'
sister can't waste time
all the little puppy did was yelp
so, he sat there frowning, wondering what could be
sitting on the very top shelf

eyes they water, stomach flips
thoughts are hazy, spirit trips
I grind my teeth, I clench my fists
forget to smile, forget my wish

a mile a minute
a smile begins it
and before I know it,
I’m off of my feet
then when I am dependent
your smile will end it
and before I know it,
I’m admitting defeat

The world is not a paper crane.
It’s soggy streets
and pouring rain,
rapping dreary melodies
on your window pane.
It’s side roads
and alley ways,
numb fingers
ripping sellotape
trying to put together broken things.
The world is not a paper crane.
But it’s the smell of grass
on sunny days
and matching china
cups and plates.
It’s warm blankets
round the fire place,
eagles souring
through the great escape
the day it finds its wings.

How many people know you?
Know how many times you roll up
   the cuffs of your sleeves when it’s warm?
Or know how many sugars
   you take in your tea?
Or how you handle yellow bees?  
How many people know what
   you tell yourself before you go to sleep?
Do you count sheep?
Or the stars on your ceiling?  
Or your scars that are healing?
Do people know you have those?
Nobody knows.

How many people know you?
Know how much you resent the gap
   between your teeth?
Or what number you group things in
   when you’re counting?
Or what the smile on each side
   of your face means?
Or where to find the seams
Where you’ve been torn open
   just a bit.
Where those little slits
   under your raised eyebrow are.
Do people look hard?

How many people know you?  
Know about how much having dirt under
   your fingernails drives you mad?
Or how you don’t like to
   drive in the rain?
And how you add brown sugar
   to everything?
And how you wish you had wings
To fly away over all these people
   who think they know you
When they don’t.
They don’t know the first thing.
But they never will.
You won’t let them in.

How many people know you?
Sometimes,

I
certainly
don’t.

there was nothing left there but meaningless letters
crawling all over the page
she played back the moment, the door slamming closed
trembling with all of her rage
she wracked her memory to find the words
that once she has heard someone say
'don't decide your forever based on feelings felt now'
and that was her very mistake

raindrops and old pages
our hearts in our rib cages
connect us all - we know it’s true
each person is a person, too

The little lady in the
pink jacket and strappy shoes
passed a man who’s
outfit, she thought,
cost less than her new handbag.
She scoffed.

The tall man in
his father’s good jacket
passed a lady who’s
tight dress, he guessed,
took too long to put on.
He shook his head.

They looked at each other.
Briefly.
Then looked away.

The man who watched them
for the other side of the shop window
reckoned he’d write a love song about them.

a flicker. The light dances
to a beat no one can hear
then quicker. The flame prances
like a lazy puppeteer
but then, it’s all over
and the dancer takes his bow
his friend, the air rover
drifts greyly into clouds

raindrops fall behind the blinds
keeping time time time
dividing up the greying sky
into line line lines
leaves brake down on pavements
now they're grime grime grime
distracting me from thoughts like
you're not mine
                  mine
                  mine.

I’m collecting memories
Every time the noon bell rings,
I stop to see who’s listening.
Perhaps the melody is nostalgia
for them as well.

I’m collecting memories.
There is a boy who
cannot see who crosses the road
at nine forty seven every morning.
He trusts strangers better
than I ever will.

I’m collecting memories.*
Sometimes I am sitting in a room
with the people I call my friends
when they laugh at a joke
I don’t understand.
That doesn’t mean they love me
any less.

I’m collecting memories.
You occasionally push
your hair off of your face,
and I don’t know why
it makes me melt.

I’m collecting memories.
The other night, I looked up
and was startled. I forgot
that there were so many stars.
I wanted to lie down on the pavement
and look up until I fell asleep.

I’m collecting memories
It’s very lovely to watch
two people smile at each other.
It reminds me that
things will be okay.

she pulled pages out of magazines
hoping to change overnight
perhaps wishing is alright?
and he looked at her through weary eyes
at shoulders hunched over meekly
wondering what she couldn’t see

oh, what a day it has been!
the sky’s gone yellow, the sea green.
oh, what a night we will see!
and we’ll guess what the stars choose to be.
oh, what a wonderful life!
on the edge of a blunt copper knife.
oh, what a wonderful world!
from the tip of a blade that has curled.

if I’m gone before the spring storm falls
don’t let me let your life be stalled
don’t stay alone or cry to much
or ever feel like giving up
just plant for me a pure white flower
and watch it grow each passing hour
and when the flower starts to bloom
paint it for me Maya blue
and if the world is standing still
I’ll be sitting on your window sill
and for I know you always cared,
for you, I will always be there.

the wind whispered to the
sun, “do you love me?” as
she blew a soft breeze
through the trees,
tickling the rose petals
and soothing the grass.
but the sun remained silent
though, lazily melting away
all that he could.
thus the wind set out
in a rage, crashing against
branches and shattering
the fragile windows
while fat tears rolled
from the sky and
drowned the Earth.
the impatient wind sighed,
waiting for a word from
the sun, who appeared
back in his place, as soon as
the wind stopped her crying.
She smiled and whispered
to the sun, “do you love me?”
as the heat dripped slowly on.

close your mouth, and don't put up a fight
do not speak if only just to spite
the humble mind's the one that gets you far
so there'll be no moving, talking as you are
don't yell out to draw attention to yourself
true talent will not need you to tell
be patient, friend, success is waited out
with all your antics, we watch through furrowed brows

she sponged up all of the new things
with the knowledge she had, she grew wings
she flew through the sky
left her old world behind
let the sound of her future ring

crates of dreams and apple seeds
were shipped right to my mind
I planted them, and they grew tall
and through them, hope did shine
they took me to a higher place
from there my life unfurled
with them I climbed so high I flew
and I could hold the world

yes, darling, seize the day
wave the victory flag
be happy with the words we say
don't let your spirit drag
don't ever doubt what you can do
don't ever say you can't
for I know this much is true
say so, and you shan't
breathe in possible. the possible.
you're possible.
believe it.

hesitations, good vibrations
and the sound can’t make you fall
on life they’re choking, heart is broken
but the music saved them all

I can see it in my mind:
your crooked, sideways grin
it diffuses on to my face, and I smile.
I can hear it in my head:
your laugh jumps high and spins
I’ll sit down and loop it for a while.
and when I am unhappy
I’ll pretend to hear your voice
and then I’ll know that everything is fine.
for, when I get lonely
I’ll know you had a choice
you made the choice to choose to be mine.

When I wake up in the morning
When I open my eyes
   for the first time in the day,
I am orange.
Like the moments between blinks
   and the glow on the horizon
   and my unkept hair
sitting whispy on my head.
As I get out of bed,
I am orange.

When I am walking down the road
As I’m passing people I don’t know
   and who don’t know me,
I am purple.
Like the bright darkness of possibility
   that we all can’t see yet
   and the faded fabric of mens’ jackets
which I’ll never wear.
When I’m walking there,
I am purple.

When I’m sitting beside him
With our knees touching
   under the table,
I am red.
Like the table cloth I picked out special
   and the apples on the counter
   and the blood that’s rushing
too fast between my ears.
When I’m sitting here,
I am red.

But when I’m sitting by myself,
Alone in my room
   calm and quiet,
I am blue.
Like the song that is playing
   and the rain keeping time
   and the glow from the computer screen
where I try not to live my life
but to which I’m prone.
When I’m alone,
I am blue.

It’s a real shame
that blue is my
favourite
colour

he said, well things are shaping up
and she said, they're fine
he said, we've had very good luck
and she said, yes, just divine
he said, it's good that we're not stuck
and she said, shhh.
                      don't worry.
                      the sun's out.
                      let's go outside.

regret drew a paper thin line
which he couldn’t help but cross.
though, he took plenty of time
so original intentions were lost.
his words were short and stammered
he couldn’t help them if he tried
and his swollen heart quickly hammered
until his tears ran dry

the indent grows bigger
my bones start to creak
I’ll take a break for all of this to mend
ideas keep on flowing
it’s an effort for me
to close the book and just put down the pen