When words fail and the song dies in your soul
The soft cushion weighs heavy, threadbare, when
Dust invites the attic attack to the last memory stroll
A fretful protest march accompanying the wood grained heart

You noticed the space in short supply, with tight breath, the
Expert bargaining skills have begun, bypassing
The weak hearts, those that are still journeying
Their healing held up in tight palms of moistoned skin

And the slide into another day begins, dreadfully
With arched pain barriers drumming their morning
Beat. Occupational hazard was on the rampage
Cracking skull caps from their skinned residence

I shone a light into the acute grey tone of those
Hearts, those whose shapes lost conviction as the light
Shot arrowed tongues from the deaf interiors of wise men
Out on the town of feeble failings, they held nothing as their companion

She looked over the rim of her spectacles
Wrapping me in cellophane yesterdays
I left the room, did not digest left with right
As my mind yanked my coat from the peg
Leaving tear stained finger prints on the locker door

Wedged between the garden gate a bird sat
Its wings trapped in suffocating feathers
Broken tips flapped its tomorrows into yesterday
Dreamt the belief it could fly with mother nature

Its back eyes spelt fear, with beaked entrapment
I was used to seeing the bird on a wing...soaring
I did not know its fairy tale ending....watching
I saw someone whisk it away, a bundle of cotton cloth

I wonder if it fell out with nature as I fell short
Of 'Miss' with her desire to teach the fan dango
To those that wouldn't learn.  The french parrot laughed
In my day dream, as she threw a missile on the wings
Of a near miss chalk board duster.......

The doorstep scrubbed, grubby handed efficiency
Good management goes on in there, orderly, it is the
Sign of no sign....announced by the doer. Occupants of
The 'Jones' style.....in the winners running, never runner up
Bristles beat a pace to be admired, white washed
Tablets, daily habits, neglect pegged out, whipped
Away by the gusty gales of 'not here you don't'
And you daren't dare to dare, to leave the grime n grit
To stare you out, it wins, skyscraping banners high up
Enough so they'll be witness to your shame face as
You try to hide real skin.....chapped into slavery

She stood, amidst tutts, wore a mini skirt...
(From the first decade).  Took a
Step forward, pioneering the teenager
Long fair hair, parted mid section
Cascading over her cherry cupcakes
Remembering first impressions aren't always
Accurate, they still berated her without
Knowing her.  First appearances were all
They knew and could rely on...back then
Why would she wear a skirt so short if
Respectability meant anything, closed off
They too had been judged, time dulling
Their posture straight backed.  Space lacked
Room to be filled with meanderings of another
Era, balancing her book atop red curls and
Speckled egg skin.  Recalling the longing
Admiration of someone who dared to wear
Their inner choice on the outside

If you could encapsulate a precise feeling
Enlarge it, breath it in, hold it for a little
Longer....wrap you arms around it.....
                                                         ­        what would it be....?
Would it be a crystalised memory?
                                                                ­a
Photograph worn at the edges from long ago
Held touches pristinely varnished?
                                                      ­          a
Song captured mid verse? whose notes bear witness
Forever black stalks glooped in circular feet

Would it be....
                                                          ­       a
Atmospheric winged horizon, caught out as a bubble
Links the past
Yet here, what would be the exact nature of your
bubbliography?
                                                                ­ a
Winged bird, a pleasure dome, soft far off yonderings of
                                                              ­   a
Soul searcher locating peace everlasting
But...what peace?....dare I ask you...would you give up for another

Handing you choice, choose one to......
                                                        ­            hold with memories

Stagecoach trundled, rutting, wheels
Soily grasp, grabbing at the earthy recipe
Cart....horsing around the outdoorsiness
Ferris wheel spun, gathering passengers
To overlook the show ground, smattered
Four legged races, saddled with encumbents
Bobbing in display formation.  Far above
I caught sight of circular ribbons emblazoned
Lapels holding onto prize winners, suffering
The pin ***** jabbing at willing winners
Left foot first, hopscotch to the flap of tarpaulin
Billowing their precious overgrown greatness
Of perfect vegetalia, proud, excessive....of the
Dinner plate variety.  Don't touch their polished
Surface, they deliberately await photographic
Validation; future growers, challenging champion
Chompers, terrorising super-veggie heros
I wonder what becomes of former ground growers
Do they take a back stage bow? Uprooted with
Those of a lesser kind, jostling for saucepan space