Freedom smells of coffee, you don’t have to make yourself
or do the washing up after
freedom has a view
that isn’t your garden
freedom is the clattering of cutlery
and plates in a kitchen
that is not your own
freedom is other people
their noise and chatter
freedom is asking them to turn the speaker down
because you want to talk
to a friend that you haven’t seen for ages
without a screen in front of you
or posters saying 'wash your hands. on government advice'
freedom is whatever the hell you want it to be
because it is yours and that is being truly free

To live only in the present
means you battle the storms of today
without a coat or a hat
you cannot plan for future weather
without the rain of the past
experience is an umbrella

Stuck coming down the slide
since lockdown made my *** too wide
when I was bored and trapped inside,
eating home made cake and bread
has caused my lardy bits to spread
I should have munched on fruit instead

Smiles
hidden behind miles of printed cloth
weddings and the Christmas we called off
people we loved and held dear
everlasting warnings have led to national mourning  
for things that have gone and cannot be replaced
and we have chased the rainbows that appeared
on every window, every door
what was that for
to make us feel one for all, all for one
until we could look up and find the sun
in its proper place
once again
and dodge the pain of the mental rain
which has been falling
washing out dreams
and churning them to soggy dust
most of all we have lost our trust
that sense that everything will all be ok
has upped and melted away
chopped down, chipped up
like the limbs of a tree
and with it our sense of certainty
the shock is profound
because we have found that we stand on much shakier ground
than anyone thought it could possibly be

Low tide
the sea has retreated
leaving  behind a keepsake box of **** and shells
spilled out across the beach
hidden watery things
drawn from the deep
they melt as footprints
when the sea returns
gathering her chicks
to rest below the waves
in sandy contemplation
of the world above

Life, that divine eternal spark
did it really start
as a shot in the endless dark
or were we fated
to be created
neatly planned
by a pencil
in some vast immortal hand!

I cannot say is miss you
well not every day
life moved on, and took me with it
carried with the tide
and weathered by waves
you stayed as you were
as you will always be
safe and dry on the shore
but you cannot dip your toes
or dance in the sand as I have done
feel the sun on your back
or the wind against your face
for you the race was too quickly run
all over and done
before it had really begun