Mum

It’s a Sunday afternoon western watching with your grandpa kind of feeling
It’s a wet weekend with a cupboard full of fun in Ealing
It’s the joyous post winning kind of card game singing
That happens when you’re treasure seeking home going bringing
It’s the icing on the bun
It’s the bestest kind of fun
It’s even got a name
and its name is Mum.

If this love

You’re far too perfect to be true
If this is love it’s perfect too

Bestest Speller

He’s the lean mean spelling machine
A quicker speller you never have seen
He’s frightfully nice and awfully keen
Wonderfully handsome and ever so clean
But the best bit about him as you’ve been told
Is there’s know better speller that could be noed.

Tuscan Italy

Under Tuscan sun
I saw the grapes grow
Watched the vines thicken
Grew fat off the land
And never noticed the plaster peeling from the ancient houses
Or the shabby splendour slowly die

Culture in our culture

That terrible burden of weekend afternoons and holidays!
Always the long hikes around museums and galleries,
stuffing oneself with stolen treasures and dead impoverished artists vision’s.
Culture - seemingly resigned to the ‘must’ and to the ‘has-been’.
Found in the waste paper basket of life,
always waiting to be fished out, rescued and ironed smooth.
Only to be passively consumed.
Never to be lived.

It’s a dog’s life

Bouncing puppy dog,
full of playful life.
Ricochetting off the lead,
always anticipating walk and feed.
Little does he know his fate,
a token walk for which he has to wait,
and the same routine inflicted every day,
until that bouncing puppy is old and grey.

I didn’t sleep last night

Ragbag,
Tousled hair,
Achy shoulders,
And tired eye stare.
Frowns that will be wrinkles,
And crumbled clothes.
Pale unkempt appearance
And a mind full of woes.
Grumpy morning leads to
Grouchy afternoon and then to miserable wet evening,
That can’t end too soon.

Love

Love
Is what I feel for you.

Love
Makes me want to share my time with you,
To wake up each morning with you,
To laugh with you,
To look into your eyes
And feel scared, loved, safe and free.

Love
Is why I smile all day,
And why I want to wake up beside you tomorrow and sing.

The dark can be scary when you’re not there.

When I switch off the light
The darkness is too much
It threatens to swallow me up
And quickly
I reach for the switch
And flood the room with light
Pull my teddy close
He’s the only one who hugs me tonight.

A love poem

Smile at me
I think
And you smile at me with your eyes
And with your perfect straight teeth.

Show me
I think
And you hold out your arms
And encircle me with warm love.

A quick and ultimately sad love poem

Apple pie cart
Slowly dissolving dart
Fragmented breaking heart.

I saw you again

I passed you in the shadows that are night.
Dark dark and street light litten.
Faceless and human shaped
We passed as strangers passed.
Night feared and darkness timid
Pretending both that the fear was not of ourselves.
Silent in word, eloquent in deed
We passed by each other in the shadows that are night.
Silently
We never spoke but all was said.