Sunday

autumn

Green becomes red
then orange and brown.
Skeletal hedge rows and mighty oaks
point barren fingers at an autumn sky


A gentle breeze
sends rustling leaves scurrying
and constantly rearranges
natures carpet of many colours

At the day’s end
a setting sun gives way to a ghostly mist
laying low across empty furrows.
A damp chill fills the still air

The time has come
for the earth to rest, to hibernate.
To protect and nourish natures treasures
'til spring wakes them from their winter slumber.

Thursday

Somewhere

May I read it to you? Single click on arrow




She sits and stares
unfocused eyes swimming to the horizon
Gazing into infinity
.
No sign of tears
Her expressionless face an empty canvas
A sea of pallor

I look into her eyes
I see nothing but a swirling mist of grey
That sparkle gone

I try to ask her why
a cloud of despair envelopes her
She hears me not

But I will wait
I’ll stay by her side for as long as it takes
for her to return

But for now
She inhabits a sorrowful place of her own
Somewhere

I know not where


Hers for the taking

They weren’t hers to take but stolen kisses taste the sweetest.

She stole a lock of his hair while he was sleeping. Hers for the keeping,

and then she stole his heart.

She felt no guilt, no shame. After all he gave himself to her willingly.

Didn’t he?

A cup of coffee in Hampden Park

I missed my train,how stupid.
Now I have to wait
But what to do?
Ah - there’s a cafe,
a cup of coffee I think

Look therein the middle of the road
One man digging a holerat-a-tat-a-tat
two men peering in

What's that shop opposite?
a party shop I think
‘Balloons’ it says on the window.
And right next door
A hair stylistJazz it’s called
Late night Wednesdays
no appointment necessary
That shop over therehas a funny name
Key-pic’ Clean it says
Must be a dry cleaner
I’d have called itKeep-IT Clean
if it were mine

Just look at that
a sandwich bar
Painted bright red!
Another odd nameThe Filling Station
Oh, I get it
quite clever really

What’s that next door?
Oh, a carpet shop
Samples hanging on a hook
outside on the wall
There’s a sign in the window
‘Sale’ it says
Do my eyes deceive me?
Another shop called Jazz?
This one seems to be a barbers shop
If I had time I’d call in
.
The cars are queuing now
the railway gates are down
A train’s about to cross the road
but not my train
I have to wait another thirty minutes


The end is nigh

The world will end on Wednesday
That’s what some people think
I’ll have to stay up Tuesday night
and have a final drink.

I’ll prob’ly go to heaven
at least I think I should
I’ve done my best for fellow man
I’ve always been quite good

Rosey’s bought a golden bag
in which to pack some things
A robe made from a clean white sheet
and plastic angel wings

I hope there’ll be a blogosphere
beyond the pearly gates
A place where I can ramble on
and write to all my mates

Have those people got it wrong
or have they got it right?
If nothing happens Wednesday morn
we’ll chat on Wednesday night.