I'm obsessed with these two boys, that I'll never meet.
I love to hear them make noise, I think it's very sweet. 
They changed my life for the good, and I can never thank them.
I'd hug them if I could, say all the things I've been wanting to say to 'em. 
I listen to them everyday, no matter in what way it is.
It could be in my mind as I lay, relaxing in pure bliss. 
They're in my head and they won't leave, it's getting to be painful, knowing we'll never meet.
Their songs, are telling me to believe, but it's getting hard, I'm feeling defeat...

We feel ourselves rogue and peasant slaves -
In that is no disgust.
Collectively yet to have been stripped of
Our formalities, plunged into fiction, devoid of normality -
An undiscovered country, if you must.

We doze cosy in dreams of passion
Where space and silence nudges pens; they bleed.
Though liquidity stiffens
Flair and genius warm the air
Assuming a pleasing shape, indeed.

We weep under a broken voice
When seas of trouble rise to strike us down.
Remorseless - how can it pause to pick and choose?
Treacherous - anxiety bedevils our news
But temporary, false is its crown.

When we think or moan, twiddle thumbs or disengage,
There is nothing, not even tears, that dares to drown our stage.

Coconut, coconut, coconut,
Crack!
Stained white on the inside,
Brown on the out.

Hit it on its head,
Slash it apart.
Nourish it with spices,
Of a Southern past.

Fuzzy to touch,
Lined in coir.
The remaining path
In defining who we are.

Droplets of the Ganges,
Drowned in the Thames.
A conflicted soul,
In search of a cleanse.

Coconut, coconut, coconut,
Crack!
That one's spoiled!
So send him back.

It is Tuesday March 17th
Stuck in the house with my family
School was cancelled
Friends cannot visit
Therefore I am here
I made a *** of mint tea for me and OJ's little sister
And did a lot of work OJ had not done
Checking email periodically to see if anyone died
I got up at 8 to clean the bathroom
Enjoyed some coffee with a waffle and jam

As I'm here I await a message from a friend on Skype
Staring at the screen as I write out this poem
As the words flow through my mind

I take a break and watch an old fashion loony tunes cartoon

The world lost a talented actor one year ago today.
After being on Earth for almost 83 years, he passed away.
He starred in 'Keeping Up Appearances' and 'The Old Guys'.
People also loved his performances in '1990' and 'Pack of Lies'.
He also entertained us when he starred in 'Othello' and 'Born and Bred'.
His entire fanbase has grieved for 365 days because he is dead.

One thousand six hundred and sixty six
none: a salesman, a noble, or a cook
Macabre swam the sea of ****** Bay
In a fleet, the Dutch, French and Britsh he took

A crimson tide soaked the sand to a stain
Great reefs, he made, floating stench of maim
The more Macabre swam for lust of pain
More life, to the vast ocean floor, he claim

Now, three hundred and twenty three years on
Under a full moon in the depth of night
He, Macabre, still swims a ****** Bay
In search of an undaunted soul to fight.

Queue

I’ll take my cue and talk about waiting
fidgeting, fumbling grumbling
Waiting
Short
long
Round the corner
Queue.
For hours
Days
Weeks
Always
But where would we be without the queue?
keeps us in line
Keep us in order

Where does it go
that hour
when clocks
go back
or forward?

Does time stop
to welcome
Spring's return,
bidding the
Winter - farewell?

Or, pause
for  Summer's
lease to bring
in Autumn's
early eves?

No: sleep lost
or gained
holds secret
the time
and the hour.

Change as you
may the hands of
watch or clock:
the sundial shadow
falls unaltered.

TOBIAS