Puff and Gumble

Puff and Gumble,
Are my thoughts,
To do and stumble,
To dream or not.

Old Stories

He bent his head and listened to the last half
of empty tape while she told her old stories.

Landscape

The blue sky is a flag,
Clenched in a fist which is the sun,
While the weather is what we have to accept,
Above the horizon.

Meat and Bone

Meat and bone,
Meat and bone,
Could love be as sweet,
As meat and bone.

When I find you,
In a pot you will sit,
As fresh as stew,
Eaten bit by bit.

And when I have finished,
Mopping up the juice,
More of it I'll dish,
On every morsel I'll muse.

It will never end,
This constant supply,
Eating all that you send,
Will mean we'll never die.

In Reality

There's always some-one,
But really there is no-one.

Craft

The minds eye
makes a room
even when we are out
of the house.

With only the wind
blowing through the
lines we have drawn
in our heads.

An Elemental Relationship

She ends her sentences with a stamp,
Putting them out like a fire,
Ash dye for the wind.

He wipes the end of his sentences,
Like writing washed away by the tide,
Taking everything out.

Their standstill draws,
Lines in the earths crust.

The Lunatics Laugh

The lunatics laugh,
At words that come from thoughts,
Words which we think,
And when we speak and write words we don't think.

At times words seem as solid despite being carried by air and paper.

And we have to laugh under their weight and ungraspable nature.






Mental

Throwing my mind out,
Like a child being sick,
All the adults clean it up,
With words I was thinking.

Pound for a Flower

We trim ourselves,
Making pockets under the eyes,
For loose tears to gather,
As change,
To be handed,
To the flower givers,
When we meet them on the streets.

Taking the Time in the Forest

Embarrassed by the growing trees,
And their quickening pace,
Pink laughs, I join these,
Surounding the winds trace,
Joyful green trees,
Taking the days to find and replace.

Plant Ball

Caught in the adjoining path,
In a mini forest flanked by traffic,
Lies a ball of earth freed from its pot,
The casualty of car purging.

Through the trauma,
A home for the domestic plant,
Back in the wilds,
Green does find green eventually.

His House

I am in his house,
It is gold,
Like Autumn leafs pressed on the walls,
It is warm,
It is told.

I awake in his room,
Like bread hydrating in sweet honey,
With an unquestioning palette,
He has found me,
In sun ray

Bus Angels

Making folded wings,
Out of crossed arms,
On the backs of people,
Lifted up to fly away,
Leaving a person again.

A Relationship with Cars

I am the polishing of a car roof reflecting a pink sunst,
I am the backseat with a beaten brown suitcase and an old miscellaneous map,
I am the fear of accompanied car journeys and the chances of lone taxi rides,
I am the possibility of four wheels and a body in transit,
I am the result of a multitude of destinations and a final ending,
I am a one way ticket with no fee required.