Spring, cherished maiden ambivalent:
three parts rain, one part intemp'rate sun.
Show sympathy for clouded, rueful weather -
and let her weep 'til she, at last, is done

for there is no permanence in her grief.
She's winter's lover, moreso summer's child:
clutching daisy chains like bespoke rosaries,
new petalled life retrieves her golden smile.

The rows of backgarden fences looked much the same
Crumbling and split wooden planks, large tree roots
Dividing up the length and making mysterious entrances
Where rather dilapidated gates, latched firmly,
So animals could not stray,
Allowed for the start
Of magic.
Out of all these fences one belonged to my grandparents and
Through which our travels to Narnia began.



Love Mary x

He talks to her,
the old man,
every day
forty or fifty
times a day
probably.

She's been gone
two years,
he still talks to her
every day.

Not much in the way of
complex conversations
exactly,
mostly just
"oh, baby.  *******."

My words always move faster
than my fingers,
so there's usually
no way for me to describe
the feeling that rests
in the silence between songs
booming from your car stereo.
But I guess
I would call it:
empty.

The loneliest you can be
is when you're the only one
on the road
at two in the morning.
And so you scream to your songs
just to fill up the space
between you
and the rest of the world.

In the quiet moments
I think about all the things
I would have done
if I wasn't so scared,
and all the times
I did those things,
and it turned out
afterwards
I was still scared.

One by one they jumped
off a line pretty blackbirds
landing upon earth

As I stood in my
spaceship the moon is glowing
towards the warm sun

Now threaded with age
I headed towards a hill
Where daffodils bloomed

And there I lie till
the end of time smiling with
my dearest close friends