Tobys a clever wizard
with more tricks in his ear than Old Delaneys donkey
he can walk through common or garden walls without detection
has no finger prints only claws
which he unfurls for your inspection
his coats too groovy to mention
and he flies to every high tick convention
hes psychic but noones sidekick
i see to that
at night he dreams ;by day i m his shorthand typist
he conveys his inspirations and i put them on my todo list
BUY FISH
sometimes he gets fleas or even worms
presently he has a neuroma
and he s booked in for an eye test as he suspects glaucoma
he supports the voluntary work i do
for those that cannot see
and he propounds a philosophy
'neither can we '

I write what I see,
Because I am blind.
I write what I hear,
But I am deaf.
I write what I feel,
But paralyzed.
I write what I smell,
In my burnt nose.
I write what I taste,
The only sense left,
And thank the day,
Because it can be worse.

I have this dream
In my mind,
That I will leave
This town with the one.

We will head west,
We will stop everywhere
And anywhere.
Take our time.

Live.

We will spend hours
In endless flower beds
In mossy forests
In crystal clear waters

We will drive and
Listen to every type
Of song,
New and known.

Yes, there will be arguments.
Nothing is perfection,
But I believe we will come close.

As the wind rushes
through our hair
We will be free,
And full of forgiveness.

We will visit new towns,
Make legendary memories.
Watch the lights of skyscrapers
As one by one, they go out.

Visit vintage diners
On the side of the road,
Learn everything
about each other.

For wanderlust has filled me,
And I dream
That we will be nomads
One day.

I grabbed at my chest,
Wanting to rip out my lungs
as they suffocated my heart.

I originally thought you
poisoned my heart but
Maybe your
Apple pie
Maple syrup
Cinnamon
Fragrance
Corrupted my lungs and
Turned them evil.

They squeeze together and
Dis-form  themselves just to hurt
My heart.

I cant breath when I think of you,
No, not in a good way.

I went to play tennis on tuesday
with my friend Emma who's blind from birth
I was telling Toby that when I talk to my friends who are blind
I don t look at their hair their chin or their jacket
I look them straight in the eyes and give them my full respect
And if by looking in their dormant eyes
I could make them see
How happy that would make me
But sadly it's not to be  
I spoke to a man about stem cell research
And the possibility it opens up of
Science enabling the blind to see
He wondered with me
Why the blind would strive to play tennis
You may murmur 'that's not a poem '
But I say
THIS IS A POEM
AND WHAT MAKES IT A POEM
IS MY FRIEND EMMA