Spellbound by love guides us together.
We detoxify ourselves from all impurities.
We shed our skin only to expose the truth.
There is no warranty for immortality.

May the silv'ry fluting of wood thrush
awake you to rose stained skies
and honeyed rays smile upon you
when you despondent are
may the plaintive mourning of the dove
weep in sympathy with your bleeding heart
and the woodland trees shelter you
from blazing noonday heat
may breezes in rippling meadow grass
whisper secrets from the breath of God
and soughing through lonely trees
blend with your sighs
may Heaven's tears of rain
mingle with your own
and may a rainbow of shimmering hues
dazzle after the storm*

~Hilda~

The clowns are angry
but they don't show it.

Behind white faces there is no hint of the resentment
that grows underneath comically sized trousers.

The clowns know they only make sense
in a certain context
underneath a big top
modelling balloons at young Bens 7th birthday.

Not here in your garden
viewed from behind a curtain
4.53am.

I was sitting on a train with my pad and a pen, trying to write a poem. I had no title, but I had written down the first line

...I was sitting on a train with my pad...

A man sat opposite me.
After a minute or so of scanning his paper and throwing cursory looks in my direction
he enquiried "What are you writing?"

"I'm trying to write a poem about a man trying to write a poem on a train
who gets asked by a stranger 'what are you writing'.

"Can I be in it?", asked the stranger opposite.

"You already are", I replied.

The train pulled out of the station.

We looked out of the window
but the view wasn’t what the brochure had promised.

In fact there was no view at all.

It hadn’t been drawn yet.

Looking up we saw him sitting there,
sipping from a cup,
looking out of his window,
admiring his view,
a blunt pencil in his hand.

You found me dangling by a breath,
on the edge of some unknown redemption.

I swore that I would never let my something old,
affect our something new.

And I know;
through those gentle brushes,
of strong hands against weak arms,

That you promise to hold me together,
when all signs pointed,
to me falling apart.