Only the good die young, they say -
How ‘good’ are those who go at 31?
She went before her time they said,
The ones who knew my mum.

See now I have a different view on this,
That some might find outspoken.
But it’s my right to think this way -
T’was my heart at eight that got broken.

Our time on Earth is not divined,
By any book or scripture.
It’s not defined, an absolute -
The future’s an undeveloped picture.

Don’t judge me harsh, or waste your time,
Searching for rhyme or reason.
We can’t protect all human life -
to think so is not treason.

Just like the number of the stars,
our days on Earth are unknown to each of us.
But if we shine our light on others' souls,
When we pass, we live on in their hearts.

Hold them, bind them, fix them tight.
Pull them ropes with all your might.
Nail your colours, hard to the mast,
Or else lose your memories to the past.

Why do certain memories abide?
And remain with me, clear in plain sight.
Like the cat almost lost,
Impossibly found under a bush,
Cowering & cold in the night.

What is the essence of recall?
The ancient past brought suddenly to mind.
Unearthing the memory,
displacing the soil.
Lift the lid, and peering inside…

How is it that some memories remain?
Whilst others slip from our grasp.
Appearing for mere moments,
awash in the static.
Tune the radio dial to the past.

Marlbourough. Olivia. Martinez. Bel Azur.
Decades-gone distant destinations I recall,
like rusty old number plates,
of cars my dad owned,
Line up like old soldiers for roll-call.

Why are these memories still in me?
Lodged like a recalcitrant stone in the shoe.
In sticking them down here on paper,
They bind me together like a glue.

Satchel strap, knotted, both ends -
bag slip, not good.
Wrecking my shoulder blades,
too heavy, 'nough said.
Weights made-up, by drivers, usually.
Chasing the clock too.
Daily, endlessly.  

Man on bike, best combo, feels right:
By car is faster of course,
walks timed using them -
quads like an Olympian
and you've no chance, of matching 'em.

Heavily-sprung, hinged - left, right or top!?
Vertical ones, ridiculous, seriously?
Letterboxes, they bite,
literally, metaphorically.

The rain IS a pain, horrendous.
Letters become scrambled mess.
Smeared addresses.
Renders postcodes illegible,
M14 2WZ.

Snow is worse, laughs at wheeled transport,
making every step treacherous.
Don't trust the slush and the frozen mush;
Others sent home, but my mail must get through, apparently.

Part-timer equals second-rate citizen.
Lifers get the best walks, which aren't equalised,
no matter what they say.
Bosses, incompetent morons,
promoted through ranks like in WW1, clueless.
****-up, brewery, nuff said,
they tolerate too much tom-foolery.

No dignity at work, none, zero.
Sexist, racist, homophobic heroes.
Mindless chants about *** and ****, penises and ****.
**** this ****, juvenile morons.

Overtime's a crime, claim it before it's earned,
then argue the toss over 2.5 hours for the next three weeks.
Costing them a fortune, like this ****** welfare state is;
money for nothing and your hits for free.

But I'm fitter and slimmer, more toned and tanned.
Take in my pants at leg, waist and the seat, one size down.
“Nothing tastes as good as skinny feels" is mostly appropriate.  

Blind, ****-offs, flats, notice-lefts,
Recordeds, specials or regis, if you're old school
Gone away, RTS, addresee not known,
"He died, he died, he died!" Funny, but sad.

Households, door-to-doors, hated by one and all; deliverer and receiver.
"The customer wants them” -
that's why they bin them as we turn our backs to deliver more unsolicited DM.
Sell outs. sold out. The customer, quite simply, don't count.
Royal Mail, epic fail.
I die with each one I deliver.
Do my best to avoid them,
sign up customers left & right to refuse 'em.
Unite, posties, unite.
Untie people, yourself from these mindless bundles,
dropping through your doors.
Say no, no more, please.  
No.

I never tried to wear it as a badge.
Of loss, or honour, or shame or hurt?
Though like its pin, each one has pricked my skin,
and I cannot deny this.

Of course it must have shaped our clay,
the moulding of our being.
And dipped us in the liquid glaze,
then fired us in the furnace.

I didn’t know how set apart I’d feel,
upstage from those around me.
It’s not conceived, to make a scene
I’m not learning new lines daily.

I’ll give my hand to those who look,
and see the heart within me.
The me it made is just the deal,
Our cards all fall differently.

Is it just me, that yearns to be,
As young in body, as my mind tells me?
When life was lived with little care,
For brushing teeth and combing hair.
And loving hands wiped tears I shed
And soothed my sleep, tucked up in bed.

The ‘growing age’ I found quite tough,
Too much push & too much shove.
The mine-field of the teenage years,
Dreams unfulfilled, irrational fears.
Faltering steps, failure to act
Naively sealed my future pact.

Adult’s coat worn before I’m ready,
Immature in mind and steps unsteady.
Resulted in some recklessness,
For which I’m sorry, I do confess.
But later on, through good friends made,
I found an equilibrium that has remained.

Past twenty years have gone so fast,
Dark chapters fade, bright memories last.
For good and bad I’ve left my mark,
In people’s minds, on lover’s hearts.
You can’t undo what has been done,
But learn from it and continue on.