A bold density of memory anchors,
scattered across a past
where colour saturates
like someone sat on the remote control,
holy hand grenades on loose afternoons
with the slap and bicker of passing the joypad
in blithe ignorance of washing piles
deadlines and empty pockets

Drifting in the now, helium light,
well-heeled but drab,
absent fingers trace the slight links
on the line around arthritic ankles
as they gently, surely give

We were once well acquainted
with the wee small hours
adept at navigating neon jungles
and the deeps of kitchen philosophies
entwined with kebabs and illicit frissons,  
in vino veritas conspiracies
that took weeks to unpick and apologise for
but passed

Now, if seen, those hours hold different snags,
surrounding plants are far less exotic
but familiar brambles cut deep,
immutable truths roar
when the ***** doesn’t do the talking
and morning burrs not so easily dislodged
by a full English and a million teas

You irritating ****!
Somehow you got yourself under my teenage skin
and you stayed there for thirty odd years
with the stubborness of a tick
we have grown up together
and old together
dynamite wouldn’t shift you now
you are a part of me
as I am a part of you

..
Rust makes weak old parts
until they crack in caustic riot.
Then slow we slough
through finite term
searching for some quiet.
Then settle in a nice safe box
to wait this whole thing out
A smile for every grateful year
prostrate to our diet.

A slight huff descends at today’s candy cane pic.
Those abstract blues,
lost along with childhood,
of time moving way too slowly.
Still a whole week of school to go,
stretching vast like an ice shelf,
with only a hint of impossibly brilliant things
in the far, far distance

I kept them for years
those fingerless stripy gloves
a last little link with my mother
who was a diva with the needles
the yellow strands of wool joining us together
in a beautifully knitted chain
although she is long gone from this world,
I found comfort in them once again today
although many years have passed
and I noticed her hands coming out of my sleeves

Faces are our covers
They show the world what we want it to see and to believe

A replacement cover can make a tired old book look new

But hands tell a different story

On the ends of your arms are two gossiping wagging tongues

They always tell the truth!

To being and end
Life undoubtedly used to be thoughtful
until you became thoughtless f**
with the inconsiderate
Why inflame to be tough with words.
Out of all the nouns and verbs heard mouthing,
Mimicking public gimmicks vue'd
reused hoping it'll rescue you
from your current situation.

They have finally cloned man.
Vultures looking for validation
to eat
One man's trash is another animals treasure
In this kingdom.

I hate the word humble
I'll rather have reality over imaginative validation
having to tip toe around to not offend the ground
rather i'll leave a building for my young to build on wealth

Generational Empire or at lease somewhere to live
Deconstructing these blueprints
that has been illusory to pass me's and future men

Clarity is nothing unless action follows.
Rest today always become rest assure tomorrow

Finding comfort in your demise because
At lease you have a bed this time
Though this house is not your home

Time merits beauty
Breath is food for thought
Cognitive slips into depression is reality
and shell be appreciated as such
As this is proof of you living.

I myself used to be a superhero.
Oh my, I have aged.