Henry was walking
with his wife
along the sidewalk
in the city

looking for some cafe
she knew
and wanted to go
when he saw this young dame

in a wheelchair
with long hair
and fine features
pushing the wheels

with her hands
and she had these
leather fingerless gloves
and he thought

who puts her in
and out of the chair?
who holds her close
to them and smells

the shampoo
in her hair
feels her small *******
against them as they hold?

who gets her in
and out of the tub
or in and out of bed
who washes her back

or wipes her ***?
She had wheeled herself by
but not before
he’d taken in all

that he could
the jeans she wore
the white tee-shirt
the black shoes

the pretty lips
the way she gripped
and pushed the wheels
his wife was yakking

about some dress
she’d seen
in some store
and wanted to go

and look and maybe buy
but the passing dame
had caught his eye
and he wondered how

she got to be in the chair
accident or from birth
disease or some beat up
that went wrong?

He couldn’t ask that’d
be too rude and besides
she was well on
her way now

and his wife was striding
on with determined gaze
but he couldn’t get
the dame out of his head

her sitting there
with her long flowing hair
and those eyes
and the constant questions

of who did what for her
and how did she
do this and that
and who lifted her up

and out? was it some
strong guy some
dedicated hunk?
Or maybe her mother

and father did the job
of getting her in shape
and bathed
he thought

and did she *****
like other dames
have some fond lover
who played the game?  

All the questions
and no answers
made him wonder more
even later in the cafe

sipping the his latte
while his wife yakked away
and even later that night
in bed besides his wife

who snored
he pictured the dame
beside him
a paraplegic model

or an art piece
that he adored.

If I said I want you,
Would you run and tell the stars
To close their eyes and ring dry
The clouds of tears?

If I said let me hold you,
Would the earth crack open,
To shudder the rolling lands,
Not cradle the hatching seeds?

If I said I am yours,
Would your name soon dissolve
And be lost in the revolving
Night that candles you in light?

If I heard your voice,
In twining dream and woke
Beside you talking in your sleep
What would your question be?

If I called your name,
Before the first sunning year
And heard you, Echo in the wind,
Would time guide us to the door?

Janice
sans red beret
walked with you
to Bedlam Park

where you swam
in the open air
swimming pool
(she swam

you tried
but failed)
there in her
green swimsuit

her arms pulling her
through water
her hands
pushing away

the water’s skin
while you stood
waist deep
gazing at her skills

her wet hair
her bright eyes
you gingerly standing
feet on the bottom

feeling the water’s
pull and push
come on
she said

try to swim
be brave
and you dived forward
into the water

and splashed
and sunk
like some broken boat
water in your eyes

and ears
you rose
helped by Janice
to the surface

choking
and spluttering
wiping water
from your stinging eyes

she had her hand
in yours
holding you steady
keeping you balanced

she apologised
for not helping
should have helped
she said

not just stood
and stared
and you gazed at her
through wet eyes

forming an image
making sense
of the shape of her
her eyes on you

her damp hair limp
against her skin
o mermaid of the deep
you said

where is your tail?  
and she laughed
and took you
by the hand

into the shallower water
her warm hand
in yours
her thin fingers

clutching
her damp swimsuit
dripping
try here

in less deeper water
she said
and let go
of your hand

and she lowered herself
into the water
and showed you how
to put your body so

and hands and arms
to move and legs
to kick and push
but all you could hold

in mind
could bring to bear
was her beauty
swimming there.

I am a dot on Seurat’s canvas.

You told me that I wouldn’t be respected if I used Times New Roman, well maybe I don’t write to be respected. Maybe I write in Times New Roman because I like to read in it.

I could write in Wingdings. Would that make you happy? Would that make me stand out?

I don’t write with words I don’t understand and I don’t embellish nature to sounds pretty. Times New Roman isn’t trying to impress anybody and neither am I.

I am writing about what is real and I am writing about how I feel and I don’t need your opinion and I don’t want to hear your spiel.

Did that make me stand out?

Down the lane
behind the cottage
where you lived
you walked with Jane

the summer sun
beaming down
the birds in song
cows mooing

from the fields beyond
I can’t believe
you actually got
the cows in

the other day
she said
you a London boy
her eyes focused on you

her lips in smile
it was fun
you said
the cow man was helping me

of course but he said
I did well
she knelt down
by the small running stream

along the lane
you knelt beside her
she put her fingers
in the water

as it flowed through
her open fingers
you studied her fingers
and her hand

her face in profile
her dark hair
and her kneeling there
the smell of apples

and freshness
and you wanted
to kiss her
as she knelt

to put lips
to cheek
she broke the silence
what do you want to do

when you leave school?
she asked
the cowman asked me that
you said

what did you say?
she asked
said I wanted
to be a cowman

she smiled
what did he say?
he said want to get yourself
a proper job sonny

don’t to want to get stuck
on a farm all your life
what did you say?
she said leaning closer

her arm touching yours
I just said I liked the work
you said
she nodded

and you sensed
her nearness
her knee near yours
she stood up

and so did you
and walked on
she talked
of her father’s work

and her mother’s ways
and how she thought
her mother liked you
and you listened

to her words
and wanted
to hold them
and frame them

and to place them
in your heart
and mind
for always

the lane
the stream
the bird song
the long summer days.

I would liken you
To a night without stars
Were it not for your eyes.
I would liken you
To a sleep without dreams
Were it not for your songs.

Jupp liked
the Whitmarsh girl
or so he said
hand at the side

of his mouth
whispered
as she walked
the corridor

from Maths room
to biology class
her friend the girl
with the teeth

like a horse
(Greenfield’s cruel
Description made)
Jupp eyed her greedily

her grey skirt
swaying
as she moved
the white socks

knee high
her hair in two
ribbon tied
bunches

he looked too shy
too outclassed
to make a move
you thought

from his ****** pose
and pitted flesh
I see her in my dreams
Jupp said

she likes me then
and speaks
Miss Whitmarsh
entered

the bio class
with friend
as you and Jupp
followed close

behind
what else
in his dreams
he does you

do not know
nor care
taking seats
with him

three desks away
him ******* up
his visual love
or lust

the former
you hope
and trust  
she took out

her flowered
pencil case
and unzipped
taking pen

and pencils out
and laid
on the desk
in front  

Jupp love ******
or drunk
sat eyes stuck
tongue protruding

the bio teacher
speaking
and pointing
lecturing

on some plant
she had
her red painted nail
moving along

is this love?
Jupp asked
this pain in chest
and heart?

you wondered
spying Miss Whitmarsh
if she had clue
of her secret lovers’ pain

or if she did
whether cared
or no
her pale features

her skinny frame
her slightly
pointed nose
which part it was

he loved
her all
or part
or all

of those?
who cared
you thought
or knows.