On the beach, we push ourselves
through the wind towards the light
There is no tunnel or holy gate

To catch our breath, we turn
around and take a rest, the wind goes
all over the world, and we are blown

along with the seagulls awhile and
together with the waves, we flow
out over the shiny sand awhile

The airspace is too large for us
almost still, we lean forward diagonally
but it is no longer a game

So we lie down and listen
to the rows of the surf
which is also breaking in our blood

I feel very old

in this weather, in this cold --


as fragile as glass.

They are still burning for me, guiding me forever,
Their shine getting dimmer, but flicker? never!
I am nothing without their light,
I'm bright only because of their shiny sight.

Don't know how long will they be on this plane with me,
But I know for sure, they will always be locked away inside my red *****,
Flowing through every drop of my blood and every thought of my existence,
Guiding me/keeping me sane whenever I'm lost/short of sight.

People say that nothing lasts forever, but true love does,
It was, it is, it will.
Hey, I believe your loved ones never leave you,
They are always inside your soul, guiding you with their eternal light!

I still like to walk,

but I'm old, I mostly look –


at the paving stones.

I'm old, I don't care

about immortality –


I want to be young!

My eyes are blurry,

being old I am released –


from judging others.

She is old, fidgets,

before sitting down she fans –


the dust off the chair.

Punters only buy into words
if they believe there’s worth.
I’ve been begging for buyers
before premature birthdays.
Let earth spin unaware –
never questioned its axis.
Hid from the anxious parties,
continued chewing table cloths,
then choked on the spike of a train stub.

Not much value in a decade thrice lived –
standing on the coast in yesterday’s underwear,
a teenage busker sits between hip-hop legacy
as new marble faces arrive in constant rotation.
I’m waiting for my estranged brother dance,
who ran out on me despite his free diary entries.
Desperate for reunion. Bitter for the jives lost.

I’ve stepped further than I ever pictured
but I’ll never walk away from the stalking wolves.
Cubs are warned but continue to ignore all advice.
Lions that scrap with the pack tell me to enjoy the plains.
So I forget the bites and burn this poem in my future face.