The images you capture
With the shutter
Of your eyelids are

The sounds that come
From your lips are

The ground that you
Walk upon is

The love that you hold
In your hands is

The bed where
You lie is

The time that
We shared is

But you are not
Of this world.

Soap was the best present then,
It was restricted so that the fat
And oils could be saved for food.
Let's share out our week's rations,
4 oz of bacon, 6oz of margarine, 2oz of tea, 8oz of sugar
And 2oz of cooked meats,
And wish each other Happy New Year
For it means something this time
As it did in 1944
The last Christmas before World War II ended
When thoughts were already turning
To those of a new time,
Not heralded in with trumpets
But with hushed prayers
When no one was watching,
When people just like us longed
For an end to the fear and uncertainty.
So let's wash our hands of the old year
And hope for the best.

Sepia not technicolour
We've lost the joy.
It's all worry
And the best we can hope for
Is to have less of it.
We need to be more spontaneous.
When was the last time you bought flowers for yourself
Or jumped out of a plane without a parachute?
If you can find a frozen lake
Dancing across it might be enough
To get you started.
Let's see how much love
This life will take
Before the ice starts cracking
Into a cheeky grin.
Our arms and legs feel like lead
But really they are made of rubber.
Start with some toe tapping
To the music
In your head,
Next maybe a shuffle
A little jig,
Now we're holding hands.
Is that even allowed?
We're all dancing,
And I don't even dance.
Let's see how much love
This life will take.

I glimpsed your world,
The flyovers and intersections
The skyscrapers and palm tree
Lined avenues,
The traffic lights stuck on amber
The sun bouncing off windscreens,
The weather insurance on the side of a bus
The bikes being loaded onto a truck,
The new museums awaiting artifacts,
The air conditioned lives
Craving a sea breeze
For here land and sea are one architecture.
And I dreamed myself asleep
In a chair at your bedside
And all the moored yachts
Their sailless masts
Pointing for me up to smoke puffed clouds.
Your love is the hurricane
I am waiting for.

Running too fast
With wobbly legs
And icy cheeks
And tiny frozen feet
I'm falling
Tripping into pain.
Helping hands
With kind voices laughing
Picking me up,
Masking concern,
Not like the laughing
Soulless wolf.
Then I go again
Tricking pain
Keeping it at bay
Before I learned how to pray,
Learning too slowly
I'm falling
Hands down this time
On all fours
And behind me as always
The wolf again,
Blood shot eyes
Scouring for stragglers
Teeth stained with blood
In anticipation.
Helping hands
Picking me up
With kind voices laughing.

Father you led me down the path
I knew at first
But then it veered off
Crossing others I didn't know existed.
Sometimes the path was too steep and narrow
Dark one minute then too bright to see the next
But these weren't seconds
They were the years
I spent always looking back
Trying to get my bearings
Searching for signs,
And I have never felt so lost.
You led me down the path
And left me there.
So now I must go on.

A hundred and forty
Happy birthday me!
Funny thing is I don't feel
A day over a hundred and ten.
So I'm going to spoil myself rotten
Bacon, sausage and egg
Flavour crisps for breakfast
Five cheese pizza
Flavour crisps for lunch
And asparagus in wine and steak
Flavour crisps for dinner.
Crisps! I love them
They changed my life,
But personally, for me
There is never enough salt.
I always carry some with me
So I can have a little sprinkle.
And Maddy is over the Avian flu now
So we can meet up.
She was quite ill for ...
Oh, a good few hours
I told her not to feed the swans
But that is her all over, reckless
And she's funny about her age,
As if it's some great secret or mystery,
She always tells me she's ten years
Younger than me
But she's got to be at least a hundred
And fifty, if she's a day.