With mourns and frail tears,
for the faded brief love, lost,
will cry when you die.

In the middle of midnight,
     night and morning kiss and part;
parting is such sweet sorrow.

In many poems,
Indeed mine own,
Relationships are defined
As two vessels sailing
In close company,
Plotting the same course
By choice and happiness
Choosing to stay close by,

But in truth a relationship
IS a ship,
A single hull with
Two crew to sail it,
Working together
To maintain the five essentials,
A level hull, with sails and foils well set,
And direction agreed,

Who holds the helm,
The tiller and extension,
That person controls
The direction of travel,
And that has been you,
When you sailed us into danger
My hand was there to guide
Us back from hazard,

Now I am steering
And the course is arrow straight
In lieu of help
Or kind suggestion,
A crew entirely focussed not
Upon the vessel but themself,
And no gentle hand to
Re direct our boat

Nor kind word
Or still small voice of calm
To calm the storm for more
Than a minute,
And that is a shame,
It takes two to tango
Only one to sail a boat,
But it is better by far

With another

I teach others to sail,
Quite literally,
And I am good at that,
Many many people will attest
To my passion and effectiveness,
But sailing is way more
Than just a glorious physicality,
Its a perfect analogy
Of life and love and death,
I also coach and mentor
The lives and loves
The living and doing
Of others,
Also in truth their endings too,
And I offered that best
Of me to you,


But something you seem
To fail to grasp is that whilst
Tacking can be wide,
Deliberate and slow,
Sedate even,
A gybe is the opposite,
Stern to wind,
A boom crashing across
And the cause of many a capsize,
You cannot be gentle gybing
In any kind of proper wind,
Its either one way,
Or it is the other,
It is sudden and immediate and NOW,
So no,
I have not been tacking,
Although at one point maybe
I was going that way,


With an icky feeling
In my heart like
The warning trembling
In a sail's leach,
I am about to gybe,
And it will be sudden,
There will be
A rapid change of direction,
I am a good sailor,
A great seafarer and handler
Of boats
Both real and metaphorical,
So my gybe will be anticlimactic,
Calm even,
But I will be accelerating
Away from you,
Your self centredness,
Your precious secrets,
Your rage,
Months of scorn and derision and accusation,
And while I do not know
My destination,
Indeed in truth I have none,
I do know the seas will quickly
Be much calmer,
The spray far less and that
Without the ice of attitude
And pain,
And at a parting rate of five knots each
In just twenty four hours we will be
Over two hundred miles apart,
I wonder then,
Will you OR I
Find peace?

Laid to the tree,
Which shivers with every blow,
A few leaves shimmying down
Before their time,
Their green already starting brown,

Another slash of a knife
Across the cords of the hawser
That binds us in life and love,
An ominous cracking creak
As our hulls inch further apart,

Every forgotten little thing
That means nothing to you
Is a wedge, and even those
That do matter? the forgetting
Doesn't matter to you,

And this is why we are
Diverging and inexorably parting,
Because all you see is you,
Your sole perspective is viewed from you,
No empathy or care,

And when the tree falls,
The moorings part,
And you find yourself alone
On a lonely sea,
I  doubt you will understand

But sure as eggs is eggs,
I know you'll say
It's my fault.

there's an echo of voices still talking downstairs,
conversations and laughter, pouring out through the doorway.
everything's temporary, in the right time and place
our meetings and partings all tell the same story.
in a moment of sadness there's a sweet aftertaste,
everything has its end, everyone must keep going.
there's an echo of voices still talking downstairs,
always waiting for someone to step through the doorway.

Another row and another
****** parting,
Hearts hard and yet
Crying inside,
Anger and passion compete
With yearning and sadness at loss,

We do not know,
You and I,
How to end or part,
And neither
It seems can we have
Harmony between us,

But that is what I want,
That is what you desire,
Even in the midst of war
We both say that
We tire of the fight,
And in not wanting that

We do actually agree,
We both want peace,
We both desire love,
We both yearn to fill
The same aching
****** void,

Well you fill mine,
And I fill yours,
At least we could if our
Rage would let us,
So here's a flag of truce,
Will you honour it?

Can we know that peace

We both

Desire

And

Need?