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On the surface
You’d never think
In my heart
There’s a poet
‘cos verbally
Words rarely
Come out right
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I am at a loss
To describe my old boss
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I can only read in bed
Cos of my dizzy head
The pillow helps somehow
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Why either/or
Why the need
To be so sure
You have your theories, beliefs
I have mine
Sometimes they may intertwine
An open mind
Wonders
Discovers
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My English teacher Dave
For whom I sometimes behaved
Said “poetry does not need to rhyme”.
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Their casual lack of care
Shocks her again
Rocks her
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Between the sweet sounds
Of birdsong lingers yearning
For spring’s renewal
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She’s going to:
Try to float
Along the river of life
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Sisters and mothers
Boyfriends and brothers
The joys of a two family buffet
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Five types of vertigo
Sat on a bench
A break in a walk
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The insistent whistle
From the singing kettle
Atop the log burner stove
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I’ve been called a sucker many times
In the literal sense of the word
I attach myself to sharks and ships
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Feeling rather blue
She paints inside her head red
Purple uplifts her
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To any alien
Who may be
Contemplating
A visit to us here
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Calls from the cello
Hauntingly sweet soft and low
Ease his deep sorrow
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Oncoming white lights
Bright eyed bunny sighs, he’s read
Watership Down too
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Magic happens when:
Disparate voices harmonise;
In velvet dark star-studded skies;
At dawn when the sleepy day awakes;
When that place in your soul no longer aches
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