My sandwich sits in cellophaned silence.
A caged morsel:
Man’s inhumanity to ham.
Its window displays a lip-smack
of full filling fat.
A ‘snack’ –
so dismissive a word:
I’ve shared smaller portions.
Then the cautions:
SELL BY:
DISPLAY BY:
EAT BY:
(DIGEST BY?)
I think I
will have a beer instead.

These days, car lights hurt my eyes,
                               Because of the dismal wintry skies.
                                    Each halogen headlight beam
                                     Practically seems to scream:
                                        “Look at me – if you dare.”
                                         They’re designed to scare
                                                 Rabbits I suppose.
                                                    But all of those
                                                     I’ve ever seen
                                                       In my beam
                                                        Take­ fright
                                                        In­ the light:
                                                         Stand still.

                                                         ­ Road ****.

This page frightens me
with its whiteness-
pale and interesting,
when words wind their way across it.
If ******* is written
backspace is the face of the future -
paradoxically speaking.
A rhyme is a sign
that on the next line
the metre should not peter
out.
Alliteration alleviates this
and block capitals
just simply SHOUT.

Embedded in the crease of streets
Lies litter from this wasteland world.
Grandiosity of trees despoiled by plastic bags
Shredded to a baleful wind-whipped bunting.
Cans and bottles glint in summer sun.
Their quenching duty done, they figure
In a losing landscape, tinged by neglect.
Dog-eared gutters crouch against the kerbs,
Lusting for a sluice of cleansing rain.
At least the leaves all lavished beauty once,
To cast a vibrant coloured throw
Across a calloused landscape
Through the gnarl of tarmac
And turgid, timeless traffic.

Silent, swiftly sliding through a mazy mix of memories
Confused by what is up and what is down.
I can’t be sure if what I see is quite correctly coloured:
Are these strange familiar sites my own home town?
I vaguely recollect that what I dreamt was what I saw
Though what I saw was maybe what I dreamt.
The quality of dreams reflects the quality of sleep
And nightmares always leave me quite unkempt.
Pleasant reveries come out of cheerful, happy thoughts:
A safe and soothing slumber calms the soul.
The rigours of the day are at best just locked away-
Except in dreams they sometimes take their toll.
Our ability to pick and choose the dreams we want to have
Is like hiding in a corner in a dome,
A feat that I achieved inside the dream I had last night.
You see, the brain just has a mind all of its own.

For our love I gave you one red rose.
Perfumed velvet petals clustered
In a tight embrace: exultant bud burst
Of new beauty. Fragrant fresh, expressing
How you brought life back to me.
A single slender stem  of perfect form
To match a perfect harmony of souls.
Yet deep within the calyx blood-red curl
Droplets lay unseen from rainy days.
As the head unfolded all its parts,
Those drops rolled tear-like far beyond
The leaves and thorns.  
The rose remains with me. I found it
Crushed within the pages of a book.
The petals have each come apart: dried up
And faded with the passing years.
They have no scent of course but I
Remember well those heady days
And with a smile I gently close the book.