Lemon tree very pretty
it was a summer night many years ago
woke, thought I heard the whimpering
of a baby, thought it was a dream,
Woke up again my wife was not there
by my side but in the garden where she
had made a hole under a lemon tree
She put what looked like a shoebox in
the hole filled it in and placed stones
on top of her buried secret. Next day she
didn't get up stayed in bed for days and
I looked after her but said nothing.
When she got up she looked slimmer
and took up jogging to stay slim.
The lemon tree grew too I got a man to
chop it down but left its root, she got
upset loved this tree and when unseen
wept. I used to long for her to tell me her
secret, but not now with the tree gone
I do not care to know.

To make a poem is simple
All you need is

Nights of tears
A bit of blood
A lot of pain
A touch of peace
Heaps of feelings

All you need is

Pure exhaustion
Fear
Anger
Love
Sadness

All you need is

A whole load of
Emotion

Then when that explodes
Out of your body
You just need to somehow direct
All of it onto
A piece of paper

That's how you make poetry

~

Vibrations loosen
 the dust on my piano,
  releasing tiny particles
   into a rectangle sunbeam
    dancing about the glass,
     as I play compositions
      upon freeform keys,
       fingered imagination
        frantically moving
         levers in never before
          heard melodies
           with a locked
            sustain pedal
             holding each note
              to gradually
               evanesce
                into silence
                 as the dust
                  once
                        again
                                se­ttles