You be my poet,
And I your poem.
Let the lyrics of our love swim
in your head,
Drift them to the sea of your soul,
And then,pen your feelings for me,
On a perfumed  page.
Script each stanza in melodic verses,
Metaphor me,
Personify me,
Alliterate me,
Till I am submerged in your thoughts and emotions,
Only I,
I your true love.

His head kept bumping on my shoulder
and he was not my father
or anyone I knew

he smelled as if a bath was overdue
and slept like wasn't a place better
than the ***** briefness of my shoulder.

Breaking down was my brittle patience
needled by his bristled cheek
brushed by his shabby dress,

was for rest the man hard pressed?

Wouldn't I have been nudged by pride
if the head on my shoulder was my father
happy to have him by my side?

as he gets older
does his blurry mind miss
a place where he is not alone

one or any shoulder
for an untimely nap in peace
a quiet stranger to rest upon?

Bonfire Night .

Under night sky its navy soot
Circular spirals of movement
We children watched
As dad opened the box
Mum gave out chestnuts
And humbugs
In our long back garden.

A match took off
Sending shivering sparkles
Upwards in coloured lights
Then the falling to earth
To dissolve
Melting into the cosmos
As sugar in a glass.

Cocoa in a mug
Surrounded by love
This was a best day
Of my life.


Love Mary ***

And perhaps only childhood
Nailed me to the cross
Standing in the brilliance
Believing what was good.

Now thoughts just embers
Ashes fallen flames
And bend to sweep the dust
Of those promises broken again.

Love Mary x

I don’t know what home is

I smell it in the smoke of a leaf pile
I see it in the mist that envelops mountains
I hear it in the soft patting of rain on roofs
I feel it in the sun that kisses skin
I taste it in the swirling dust of roundpens
Most often.  

But once

I smelled it in the perfume of barbecue
I saw it in the land that rolled on forever
I heard it in the crunch of snow underfoot
I felt it in the sting of rugs on knees
I tasted it in the crunch of donut holes

And sometimes

I’ll smell it in the must of old homes
I’ll see it in the color of muraled walls
I’ll hear it in the music played far too loud
I’ll feel it in the love of parts unknown
I’ll taste it in smiles given and received

I don’t know what home is

But somehow I always find it.

last night i got angry
        it was a very strange feeling because
i've never really gotten   angry before


i got so angry i went outside and
                ripped 3 branches of leaves from a bush

i stared at them
               a plant's livelihood
sitting in my hand
and suddenly i was a murderer

i began to cry
and cry and cry
i didn't want to get that angry
or go ballistic
but i felt mad
in more ways than one.

The keeper of illumination
Aye, the keeper of the light
Safety first, his fascination
Dusk to evening through the night.

Aye, the keeper of the light,
Every season, every day
Dusk to evening, through the night
He tends the beacon, shows the way.

Every season, every day
Climbs thirteen flights of thirteen stairs
He tends the beacon, shows the way
The Fresnel lantern he prepares.

Climbs thirteen flights of thirteen stairs
Skyward, toward the landing high
The Fresnel lantern he prepares
Lighthouse beacon must not die.

Skyward, toward the landing high
Strike the match, produce the spark
Lighthouse beacon must not die.
Guides ships safely through the dark.

Strike the match, produce the spark
Safety first, his fascination
Guides ships safely through the dark
The keeper of illumination.
Phil Lindsey 6/25/15