I have lived many years
As a mouse
Many years I have lived

In this house of umber
I have kept
Asleep I have slept
Gazing
Watching

Clouds floating
The vibrant trees
Their descendants

Through my many windowed
Walls of slatted wood
In Summer breeze
I have gazed

For your eyes
I have slaved
For your feathered face

Excuse me
I don't have to
Love you
Or anybody

Maybe they told you
But you don't deserve
My forgiveness
You *******
I'm sorry

I owe you nothing
My love that you shrugged
Is no longer in stock

But my hate
That's another story
Endless
But never enough
To heal
My broken heart

I am lying
Below this tree
On my back with the bats
I see it rising like a mushroom cloud
Bellowing upwards to cover me
Glowing in the moonlight; moonlit
A river flows beside it

While tufts of grass reach
Over its banks
Like peasants at golden gates
With arms outreached
Pleading
To satisfy their thirst
In the stream of life
Unaware of the soft dew
Upon them

In the dark
The solitary streetlight
Reflects upon the water
Under
The blackout skies
A horde of medieval torches
Dances
Like dragonflies
Like fairies in little ships
Their ceremony
Continues

I wondered why the birds sang so late
On this gloomy Summer's evening
It was like a dream
A lesson I had not yet learned
Were they calling out
For the Sun's sweet return?
Do they not know their efforts were in vain
That the passage of time is as inevitable
As the falling of the rain

On the thin film of my umbrella
The pattering continued
In an irregular beat
Droplets formed like a masterpiece
Dripping down around me
I felt as though I were in a dome
A cosy bubble to call my own
I walked on

And finally reached the old church
And though I am not the religious type
I could see its worth
And it's ethereal beauty tonight
Sitting beside the cold stone wall
Sheening with the light that reflected
The rain was illuminated beside me
On this solemn dedicated bench

I looked out to the bay where the land
Molded around the sea
And I saw a lone swan soaring across the rippled water
Gliding gracefully stoic like a banshee
Through the misty downpour
My ill omen
I saw determination in her steady course
And a pensive sorrow in her solitude

I sat there for a long time

The sky had darkened
And angels on long shifts
Flew past on the roads below
I gazed again and she was lost
In the shadows, now perhaps snug in her nest
Her job she had done well enough
For today
Another soul she had saved
As the moon guided the waves
She would rest
And I would be on my way

The water sparkles like the time
I spilt sugar all over
Your kitchen table
Each granule reflected the sunlight
A smile splashed across your face
The silver fish re-emerge

Jumping in parabolas
To see where they are going
I don't think they know
When they are down there
And the frothy shoreside
Reminds me

Of the milk that rushed to the floor
After my clumsy hands betrayed me
I'm glad you weren't mad
I'm glad you didn't slam the door
Your wide mouthed laugh was there
To console me

You don't know

That I love you.

That I need you.

If only...

Sounds rather risqué, right?
Like an unmentionable body part.
Not a person you might care about.
No the other half of your heart.
Not my partner or sweetheart
Not my husband or my lover.
Any of those titles above
Will appropriately cover.

No, they call me your friend,
Your little buddy, your ‘thing’.
That last one I always suffer
As particularly insulting.

But, not my watchacallit,
My whatever, or such euphemisms.
They hit me like less than kind
And disapproving colloquialisms.
I mean, how would you feel
If I referred to your wife like that?
Calling her your sidekick or
Something like a stray cat?

I have no problem with asking
How my honey is doing today.
After all, that’s really who he is.
He’s my sweetheart every day.

So, think for a moment, please
Before you begin to speak.
Your lack of sensitivity can
Only make you look weak.
Just because we didn’t choose
The path you chose to take
Doesn’t mean you’re better than I
So, give this bigotry stuff a break.

He’s my partner and sweetheart
He’s my husband and my lover.
Any of those titles above
Will appropriately cover.

It tells us so much
When. A. Small. Dot. Makes. Us. Stop
We hold the power

The grand scale of things seems unimaginable
When our children listen to the legends and grow
Altering art in new amazing ways, watch their faces
So beautiful and young but still like those in their history books
Only wearing new clothes

When you showed me your words and your heart
In that moment my mind became opened to all of history
I remembered how this was only just the start
I supposed the beauty was created by me

I thought of the children

Their minds seeded on the shoulders of their heroes
Take a little here, borrow something there and create a dreamworld
You can see the cross section of youth and life in their words
In the ways they manifest beauty from something so much worse
My pens reflect the Sun's light spread like petals in their ***
I lift one out between my torn and faded fingers
And I hope I may have the privilege to be a part
Of humanity's ever changing plot