And now I have to take you down
to seem like you weren't even there;
Christmas I love you,
the once a year fanfare!

Bye bye!

Until next time!

Maybe,
now,
nine
planets near
enough to name;
another lucky thing
to exist
in the time of you.

Oh my:
I just accidentally phoned
my Mum
when I attempted to call my drunken mate a cab,
how fab!

Mum, I try not to be aware of the seconds when you won't be here anymore (and when that happens surely the world will stop and pause, and then applause your wonderful tour de force).

I'm happy that the mistake ring
gave me extra moments of the life you bring.

After the ordeal
you really make things bright,
replacing tirades of darkness for little skips of light.

I was looking forward to beginning a book about felines,

the beautiful view of moggies in verse and rhymes,

but after perusing a few there was a nagging sense in my head,

I didn't agree with a lot
that I read:

I saw words like "aloof", "distant", "scorning",

as if these things only

arrive when they deem to

call,

and I thought you really

don't know cats at all...

They'll follow you down the road to see you for a bit more time,

and sit on the knee, purr contented divine:

although still a bit scared on her back will roll and with vulnerability meet,

conjuring up the sweetest of greets.

Someone once sang...

"Don't get excited, cats will never be our sidekick
so I know our love will always be unrequited."

However...

Bouncing down the street to see me when I got home from school,

I forgot in an instant a bully was cruel,

then lost, bereft, day all of the slow,

went and sat on my shoulder to say, "I'm here, you know":

an attempt to lift, a furry kick-start,

if that's unrequited I choose a broken heart.

Okay, maybe a scratch, never say never,

but our love is precious

and always forever.

Write what you see, sing your song,

but please, please,

stop getting cats wrong.

In mild air
seething green recedes
at a trot
not gallop,
some splendor left
but scarcer and sought.
Fortified in fought,
still strong for days
unchanged.
Until giving way
is the way.

Superlatively brilliant
you held my hand
with an accord all your own;
that was a time of magic
when it was easy
to be air
with each other.

Between all the light breezes
we could meet,
the spaces where breath
breathes in joy
and be glad that this is it,
and movement now is our thing;
a magic of moment.

If asked I’d say
“yes, that is a sweet place to visit,
you should defiantly go there,
it’s the best.”
Knowing that yes
might be a lie.
The place I vouch for
could have had
******* heaps
disturbing sleep
by day and night
and not known
singing
or joy
or light.
It may have never heard
a voice kind go out of it’s way
and back again just because
it can,
there may have been a laughter ban
or a tax on air,
I would not have seen these rules
or cared
because that's the place I met you,
and the world at once
was just
us two;
that’s good for life,
not travel advice.

With a clamor of disorder a raised voice heard,
pompous and **** it begins to emerge,
he starts with,
"I don't understand this obsession with television
you're numbing your brains with perfect precision,
vegging like zombies consuming mind corrosives
numbing your senses with cabbaging explosives.
You are passive and dull clapping like a seal,
have a word with yourself, IT'S NOT EVEN REAL!!
It's nonsense intended to diminish your soul
makes you pliant and supple, never breaking your mold"
He pauses and sips then gleefully splurges,
"My head would never be satisfied with the basest of urges.
I spend my free time reading or immersed in the arts,
i cleanse my essence and strengthen my heart.
I visit wonderful worlds full of joy and compassion
where people love well what's front and what's past them,
the flaws and the soars of the human condition
are painted out in strong and perfect position,
stupendous rendition.
So while you glaze your iris with images galore
and turn your mind's eye from vibrant to snore
i have beauty coming out of my pores.
But you stick with your idiot box"
he knowingly mocks,
swings down his drink
and finally stops.
There is silence for seconds but then somebody says,
"I disagree with your there in quite a few ways."
She comments,
"Although i think reading reveals amazing truth,
enriching life with strokes drawn loose,
conveying love with all that it brings,
grief and stillness and magical things.
And i concur that art is a window into the soul,
running with life and filling the holes
but telly can also tell the things that they told.
He guffaws with derision and says with pride grown fat
"pray do tell what TV show could do that."
she replies
"There's a show where a girl is given a tremendous burden,
her present hectic and future uncertain,
she stands between the world and inevitable doom
while going to school and being sent to her room,
she worries about hair and being the object of mirth
while still being scared but saving the earth.
She has people around her who are courageous and clever,
and stand by her side whatever the weather.
One would feel useless and small
but then buy the dress so you can go to the ball.
The other sent to watcher and keep his distance
but for the pull of affection there is no resistance.
Red held the fate of the world in her hands
when her world ended and crumbled like sand,
but she used all her magic and not to float a pen
but to stand back up, to love again.
Her sister was a key and her duties a lock
sometimes she began to rock
she had a day that we will all have
where something is lost and will never come back,
outside it's sunny with hoots of oddity
inside it's seconds from mommy to body,
and this happens,
unlike her it will not be gentle,
it will invade everything
and evade courtesy
and want.
But this is because of love,
and what it does.
Mast casting,
everlasting and there to see,
and in a show on TV."
She has a slight pause and then remarks
"It could be drenched in sadness and resplendent with larks,
many vampires slain and demons destroyed
moments of weakness, feelings to avoid.
She could plough the fields and never till them,
admit her mistakes...i'm sorry William.
She could be class protector
she could be surprised
she could lie with you until sun rise
she could die for the world and take out the glory
she would run from her problems but always finish the story,
she'd get you down from a tower
with words not her power,
her screams send the bad gentlemen away
because she is stronger then them, everyday,
she has kindness
and a best and a worst
can burst into song and be effulgent in verse,
told she's a a hell of a woman and the one
and returns the i love yous on the day that he's gone,
and through the screen and this TV plot
is written with love how she saved the world...alot.
You might like books
but Buffy is great
an endeavour of joy, an affront to the hate."
The man composes himself and then says without regret
"It sounds ******* brilliant, i'll get the boxset!"

You do look a little bit older
than you used to

these days;

your youthful visage
a tad thumbed by turning many page:

but despite the so called age process
you still simply merry everything with the fantastic of elan:
oh what a guy,
oh, what a man!

Always blossom
when you appear,
the sweet knew
at the forefront
of new;
wonderfully,
delightful.

Aww tum, it's Autumn;
stomach seizures during
season friezes;
and a leaf pleases
and seizes.

This minute with you
is nothing,
an hour nothing,
a day nothing;
everything nothing,
chasing a feeling that's ducked down an alley,
the sound of nothingness,
the mute at the rally.

Once water ran with life,
reflecting light,
until the sun shy.
Oceans teemed
with dreams
and landed
on a verdant shore,
sure of love.
Now arid ground
covered in contours
carved by racing streams
stares at starless skies,
awaiting rain from empty eyes.

In this place you purr,
unperturbed and content,
pens plentiful,
not restrained or contained
but still,
and you,
with view.

No armour made me feel strong,
until you
came along
and infused every
***** with staunch
and bold
and sun.

As natural as you
is how I want to be,
moving before
formalised thought
into the you
of yourself
without thinking;
understood
as easy
as a season.

You are migrating too slowly,
to leave,
with leaves.
Wings beat to come back
and look back,
if luck's back.
This autumn;
falls done.

Thanks for the amazing interlude,
it was beautiful to see
and talk to you.

Things that were incompatible
suddenly seem like balance;
the fog now in time
with the sunshine.

The end of the start of something
erupts,
off the cuff;
no whims,
just ordered fall,
to the floor.

A transient stay rescinds
fall by fall,
as it always would;
dropped what once caught
the full of the sun.

Just when it seemed like you were done
lost to the turn
you appear
with the most full of ends,
not frail or wanting,
strong as you ever were
at your height;
the most bright
of goodbyes.

You, not to forget;
as
verdant sinks and slips
a soft green sustains
through thick and thin
and falling rain.

Don't migrate yet,
you'll miss summer's going
goodbye;
but your wings do look beautiful,
in fade,
in sky.

The storm
make believe
with ease;
your soar roaring.

Your walk of safety
saves me.
Stopping things that
could grow
awfully,
near you,
i'm in awe fully.

With your eyes on me I can see.
You put the ball in the hole,
& step from fall;
dear dancing in aeroplane summer.
Your tinder smile,
not touched Tinder for a while.

The shape
of you
goes fast,
as do dreams
of everlast:
please stay baby,
please stay
around:
a second with you,
I raise The Crown.

After you’ve ran with green through knowing frantic summer strength
you fall,
in going home rain,
with all the land in the world.

Scrugged slowy.
And then.
Puny
roared
with impunity.

When you sit & nonchalantly beam
it is such an enchanted scene;
oh you,
you'd turn a grey sky walk into a sunshine mile,
with your here,
with your smile.

Because of love a grief will happen
that will make tiny uprisings of cold
thaw
in a furnace of today.
When it ends,
unlike you it will not be gentle,
it will invade everything
and evade courtesy
and want.
But this is because of love,
and what it does.
Mast casting,
everlasting.

Here and now you are
at your fullest,
neither blooming or waning
but rushing with
the strength of today.
Aware of fall
and remembering shoots
through
barrage and mirage;
the balance of transience.

We can also learn from men.

In the real world
you don't walk unexpectedly
around a corner
and say hi
and make smiles rise,
instead boring practicality
keeps us apart,
yawning gaps
on the map.
But miles don't stop smiles
rising
in a place
in a space
between us.

You remind me of blue skies
and billowing flags,
signalling a attempt
of something joyful.

You're starting to represent
something wonderful
to me;
ace as summer
beginning to shine.

You're as bright
as a big
beautiful wall,
not solid
at all;
an enchanted vast
master class
that marks a phase
of amaze;
a light pass win
at begin.

The stuff of bright
in motion
shining spectacularly fast;
it's the move of
your fantastic.

Don't let
season skipping signs that say
it's autumn
deter your warm from being here,
you always very welcome
what's left
of the summer
of this year.

It seems these days, in this now,
the bright side isn't a unfathomable place, it's just right there, close enough not to reach for,
more settled,
gently,
part of that lack of grasp is because of you;
you create a happy easily,
with all you are
and all you be.

The bright in your face
makes all my butterflies
come out,
it's the natural reaction to such dazzle;
so simple, so rising.

After three thousand brilliant minutes
we part,
but,
no sorrow when we do,
those minutes were with you.

My mind; as fast as the track on Brands Hatch,
on Tinder you get a fast match,
but spoil it with sick head quick **** pics,
you *****, you're patriarchy rich.

Some seams
seem
far
from
undone;
they no see tie
in the full of run,
but
can
stop
in
topple
when the future
is fit to burst.

It's very easy to miss the last bus on purpose
and use that gloomy subterfuge
as an excuse
to walk you home;
sans expectation,
of course:
you do what you want,
that's one of the options,
in the myriad of many
that you obviously have;
as you always tick over,
you always go forward.

In a few more hours it'll be time,
until a far away December,
for the last festive clip
of Tim and Dawn,
and then pack away the tree,
but not forlorn;
Yuletide you were wonderful,
songs, laughs
and good tidings to all,
spinning times of splendid,
the comfort of having a ball.
So despite being over,
no hint of a feeling of blue,
because Christmas 2018
you were only you.

You,
the platform of merriment
moulded to the moment;
always the best seat in the house