Well China gave us two metres
So we can disregard that straight away.
But a Professor Hanson in Odense, Denmark, came up with 124.5 miles,
Although it was drizzling so not ideal conditions.
I know they have done tests
In the Rocky Mountains
To see if they would impact the data
And in Iceland, Dr Staria, no less, has tested the effects of the climate there.
And I read even the Atlanta Space Flight has done simulations,
But the honest truth is
We simply don't know how far
We can blow a kiss.
So we still have to do it the old fashioned way,
The sender sends the recepient a message,
The exact time they are to receive the kiss,
And they in turn make a little wish
And wait with puckered lips.

All is well
I am strong
I'm fit
I'm healthy
Nothing can hurt me
My body is healing itself
As it always does.

He wanted to keep walking
I know he did
But on this fine Spring
Morning
We are only allowed twenty paces.
We turn and now I'm looking
Down the barrel of my pistol
At the one aimed at me.
We never met, I wish we had
Then surely one of us would have said,
But what if we both fall in love with the same girl?
No, we just grew up together
Got used to each others'
Funny little ways
We're inseparable really.
When his parents died in a boating accident
He came to live with us
Until we both got jobs at the bank
And could afford a room
Over the hardware store.
I pull the trigger, the powder ignites,
Love saves more than it kills
That is true enough
But it's all over in a flash really.

I always wondered how I would die and now I know I'm thinking, hey that's not so bad, because I will be visible one minute and not the next.

Let the flowers grow where they grow
Empty hands are still good hands
There's nothing to reach out for
Or hold on to or push away
No splinters or cuts to worry about
Breaks are healed, scars faded
There's nothing to touch or feel
Nothing to count
No one to wave to
No hand to hold,
And it was all right there
In the palm of my hand
This life
There for the taking
There for the receiving
There for the giving,
I let it slip through my fingers
But empty hands are still good hands.

There should be a word count
After all we only get so many chances,
So many prayers in every life.
Only God knows all those I did and didn't use.
Poor words, they never get any credit,
We can't even decide on
A universal language for them.

They should build monuments,
In Honour Of Unread Words.
Still, who would visit?
Instead we have shopping lists
Stuck to the wheels of supermarket trolleys.

Abused, misused, misspelt
Misunderstood, misquoted
If they put in a complaint, who would read it?
Take the most overused ones, those usually said
years too soon; 'I love you.'
And that one always said a few minutes too late; 'Sorry.'
Words must be exhausted and confused.
It's obvious to them what the next one should be, but not to us.
We stare at a blank page
Expecting them to pop out.
They would if we would let them.
Poets make it worse.
Their luminous portal is my door.
Still art thrives on confusion.

But words can easily get their own back,
Our reasons and excuses look silly
When we re-read them
And our attempts to make ourselves look good,
Are fake.

When you left I gave up on everything except you.