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I cut my hair
To let go of you
Who liked it long
And in a mess

Short and sweetness
Falls to the earth
And its in-between
I'm at my best.
Physical movement
Shifts the golden gears of thought
And finds alignment in the chambers of my heart

OR

Movement
Turns the wheels of thought
Which help me find my feeling
As I struggle against the tide
Of two eggs in the same pan
Cosying up, embracing
Destined to be as one

I realise that it's just no use
To maintain a division
Between two born of the one same mother
Be that Mother Hen or Mother Nature
If Kev is the sky
With his head in the clouds
And Sie is the water
Always finding the level
In stroke and in flight
Ne’er twice the same brother
Each a perfectly formed
Reflection of the other
I threw open the door to the sky
And the ocean rushed in like oxygen to the flame
The crescent moon cut like crystal glass
Casting shards of starlight from a distant past
Drawing pin-****** of blood from my hands and my feet
Sending rivers of rosé which got lost in the sea
I heard distant laughter from an empty shore
I cried tears of joy and then drowned in it all.
Writing poems is like doing jigsaw puzzles in reverse.
The last piece is always the trickiest bit.

So, to help with my poetry, I tried doing a jigsaw puzzle in reverse.
And ended up with nothing.
Such perfect pools of poetry, these paddy fields.

So much so that,
When it comes to budding poets and rice,
Bali must be up to its knees in them.
Thanks to Richard Chapman for helping me finish
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