A Note Until

When Tragedy’s mask
is worn as a smile
should the fates relent
with their torment
of our poor souls
leaving us to our devices,
and all the old gods
(and the new)
fall from their heavens
that is when
my thoughts of you
will die

5-7-5 (take two-hundred-and-three : clockwatching)

I watch the hands turn

holding each beat perfectly

until the last one

An Epistle

Charon gladly holds my fee
the debt paid in advance
that I may live the rest for free
and with the devil dance

Cat

scritchy, scratchy
run aroundy
chasey birdy
skip and hop
up and downy
stairy wary
eyes wide open
then you stop
purry wurry
soft and furry
laying sideways
on the mat
sleepy weepy
slightly meepy
mousey dreamland
barmy cat

The Basement : a short fiction as prose

he descends
each stone step
colder than the last
upon his bare feet
the warmth
of August sunrise
is bitterest winter dusk
underground
for here
live memories
the scurrying things
damp hurrying things
within its dark cold walls
and cracked ceiling
that he’s never
been able to face
until today

Maybe Tomorrow

My latest rhyme is being a pain
he simply won’t come out and play
he’s settled right in at the back of my brain
so I doubt that I’ll write him today.

Maybe tomorrow he’ll come to the fore
and amaze all of you with his wit
so despite me wanting to write him some more
un-fortunate-ly, this is it.

publish and be damned (a one minute rhyme)

To seek to find eternity
on the written page
was folly I had thought
but to have your eyes
read each word I write
I know it’s not for nought
each phrase I drag from where
or when
each piece of soul set free
evolves with life outside the pen
to defy mortality

Sketch for Senses piece

I could follow the clouds on a blue sky
as their shadows play games with the trees
listen to the wind tell secrets and lies
to the poppies which dance on the breeze
I could hold in my hand the most beautiful rose
and stroke its velour with my fingers
I hadn’t the time to spend on things such as those
as you on my senses have lingered

The Themepark of Recollection

remembering…
walking expectantly
through turnstiles
of reminiscence
each event
dripping neon
the perfume
of candyfloss
and stale beer
a kiss, a kick
a rumble
a fumble
sighs of passion
and regret
all indistinguishable
with time
each attraction
either sanitised
extrapolated
perhaps dramatised
to remain memorable
after visiting
so many yesterdays
roller coasting
through queues
that go on
almost forever
others broken
beyond repair
soon to be forgotten
and demolished
to make way
for tomorrows.

5-7-5-5-7-5 (double haiku : the heart)

he’d traced a loveheart
on the windscreen of her car
with his fingertips

she hesitated
and allowed herself a smile
then wiped it away