this morning
i told the flowers
what i’d do for you
and they blossomed

'I love you'

rolls off your tongue

like an old piece of chewing gum

something you wish you could throw away

but once more

you choke it down and swallow

This is the shoe where poetry lives
It walks with a tap and the occasional hop and skip
But on Mondays it drags a little on the way to the train station

This is the shoe where poetry lives
Ready to throw a kick but inevitably risking a stubbed toe
Harbouring the memory of a break and the months of limp

This is the shoe where poetry lives
Experimenting with an odd sock, denoting a qwerky outlook
And if you were to examine it's sole you'd find an uneven wear

This is the shoe where poetry lives
Grass stained from ventures along less travelled paths
And carrying scuffs from many climbed boundary walls

This is the shoe where poetry lives
And it sits by the back door ready for the next adventure
Silently jealous of the shoe that was claimed by the dog tonight

I wonder whether
     in my advanced maturity
I'm getting sappy -
    a sign of second childhood
    regression as progress … ?

when even cheesy happy ends
on late night television movies
almost bring tears to my eyes

or is it just
fulfillment on the screen
     of ancient human dreams
that we can live in harmony
     happy in peace
    instead of war

no bombs  no deadly rockets
no children lost to famine or to terror
no need to flee the rubble
     of what used to be your home

I guess I‘m getting sappy

they leave
and act like it never happened
they come back
and act like they never left




ghosts