This is a story about Harry,
as told to me by his daughter.

Dad and I had spent the day in the park,
we had picniced and were packing our things up,
twilight had arrived and soon it would be dark,
Dad bent down and picked up his coat and hat,
he looked up at me and said "Look at that!"

I looked about but saw nothing strange,
"Poor blighter!" said Dad, in a quiet sort of way,
and the look in his eye, I saw Dad change.
A grubby old derilect was stummbling our way,
a life gone to waste, a soul gone astray.

Dad smiled at me, as the man stopped to seach in a bin,
"Have yer got any smokes?" He asked, with a grin.
"Why yes I have a full pack, bar one." I replied.
He took my full pack and emptied them out,
he repacked them, so there was only a dozen inside.

Dad took that packet of smokes and threw it into a bin.
We picked up our things and went on our way.
I glanced back and saw that derilect get his lottery win,
Saying to Dad "Why did you leave him the full pack?"
Dad said "Oh,  he would have known it was a 'set up'.
and I didn't want to embarrass him."

(c) 26th October 2010

Simple patterns place the tune
into a new earshot of space every afternoon.
Withering and twisting it all looks the same
but it feels different on the inside
it knows its own name. The key and the flats
The vicious cycle of white, black
or both.
Some technicolor grey.

You've got to really accept it
that the heart knows what to do
if you don't, the pressure changes
and the your life ends far too soon.
Time will hit you like a brick
being thrown from
a hurricane
& in time, those of us who know our name
will still be somewhat sane.

I couldn't promise the plan
I couldn't promise anything.
But I could feel the way you felt
when you knew I was taking on everything.
Maybe you waited to watch as I tripped on
myself.
Stummbling through a violent storm of mind
My own Hell.