We sat around the fire
While the old man read the poetry
From a battered old book
Held together with strips of
Ribbon and shoelaces
Bound around it like a cord

The light flickered and danced
To the beat of spitting wood
Shadows stretched across the room
We hid in them like a duvet

Eyes fixed elsewhere
Saw not how I placed  
Her hand in mine
And felt the delicate pulse
That betrayed her feelings to me
And mirrored my own feelings
For her.

I saw them growing
In the damp squelchy soil
Soaked and sodden
With the rains that fell
Over winter
At first they shot out of
The ground
Green shoots unseen among
The green grass
But upwards they jutted
Reaching into the sky as much
As such things could
Exploding into blooms of yellow
Leaning over like bells
Ringing out in peals of colour
The joyous celebration we all
Waited for eagerly
Through the darkness of winter
"Spring is here at last- ah
Spring is here at last"

I take deep breaths

And plan a ******

To **** the bird that flew

Over the crow's nest


On a summer night

I feel the warmth

Of the day not yet done

The sound of laughter

Is all around me

This is cool- I say


I find myself lying on a surgery table

Holding an apple in my hand

I throw it against the floor

And landing there

It bursts into a million

Children of my mind

Spreading into every

Country on the planet

I am the new master

As my children grow and grow

Still in rags I speak

And throw my thoughts into a bin

Their work is finished you see


Still the sound of laughter

Carries on around me

Living is easy

With your head

In the clouds


I saw- and still I hear

The giggles and noises

Of delightful romances being

Born

These should be mine

But they are not mine

Such things are little more than

Mist or whispers

Promises not yet realised

My children sympathise

And bringing me a woman

To sit with me in the tall grass

Together we shall

Plan a life instead

i have a bulimic personality
taking in
more and more
until
all at once,
i snap,
throwing up words
of regret,
then looking down
at what i've done,
and
hating
myself.

Police came with blue

Flashing lights

Trouble in the house on

The corner

She was walking into doors again

A regular habit so it seems

Maybe you could scold me
Tell me that you love me so
Dig my grave with your
Harsher words
But hey man I don't care

Sid and Nancy had it made
****** chic stupidity
In a hotel bed
Glazed eyes
And soft carpet touch
Like a thorn in the side of youthful folly

Keep it *****
Keep it fresh

Bleed on me

"So how do you feel about
Not being invited to your sister's wedding?"
Such was the question he had asked one Saturday in his kitchen.
It was a tactless premise to
The dispelling of his unwanted wisdom
For such was his manner
Of seeking ways to tell us all how best for us to do
"Thus and so,"
Even in matters that he knew not
Hence the thoughtless question
Which yes, he actually asked
Causing them to flinch in pain at the recollection
That they had been so wilfully forgotten
By someone whom they both loved dearly