What is left,
what remains
beyond pain at my leaving
as memories fade
at the end of your grieving
when the tide in which you wade
is not so cold and not so deep
what then my love
which memories will you keep,
the echo of my voice
wrapped in memory,
pressed in a book
will you take a look
but not too hard,
don’t stay too long,
remember me fondly
when I am gone
then take down my picture
and carry on

Roll up roll up
put down your pennies
see the man who thinks he is Napoleon,
watch the lunatic dance on the White House lawn
laugh at his crazy utterings,
sitting on his throne with a plunger for a mace
and a toilet paper crown
isn’t it time we took him down, and removed him from display
gave him his meds and tucked him away in some secure place,
a safe and comfy padded space
for the good of everyone get him off show
the King of Bedlam has to go

I want to unplug
sever all connection
I’m long overdue
for a period of reflection,
time to spring clean
dust my mental shelf,
remove all the cobwebs
and try to find myself

One life,
one light to shine in our allotted hour
a single strutting chance upon the stage
a single line writ large upon the page,
a chance to love, to live, to give
and what is more,
one entrance and one exit, no encore

A day escaped,
released from the sticky womb of night
held firm in the arms of midwife morning
listen to its infant cries,
the wails of a newborn child unfed
demanding of your bed and sleepy scant attention,
it matters not that you turn your back and try to block your ears
to tears of open-window traffic rage
and screaming gulls that dance on bins with shoes of lead
invade your head and work themselves within
to violate your peace with a surgeons skill,
phone alarm vibrating shrill and shaking
leaking decibels that penetrate each waking fibre of your skin
you know you must begin, attend that fractious babe
fill its hungry mouth to stop the bawling
lured as ever by the bathroom light
Thursday screams, and you her faithful moth come crawling

They applauded the president
those with no hands stamped their feet
those with no feet clapped their hands,
and the president smiled his crocodile smile
because he hadn't fought for his country
and he still had hands and feet
but he had no heart
not even a painted purple one!

The world and all its many fingered thumbs
has me by the throat
tugging hard at the wire
gripping tight it cuts, sharp at the prospect of another hour
until I do not know if flesh is bone,
bone is flesh,
or some thing in-between,
all is pain, and pain is all
lightning in a head that is filled to the lips with rags and straw
raw alight and burning bright, although I wish it were not so
I want it dim to let me sleep,
let me hide in dull-thought darkness
calm beneath the leafy shedding midnight trees
with their echoed mindless hum
and owls, there are always owls
screeching brutes of talon tinted wings
that eat the other flying things that haunt my night
and I can only lay
and wait for morning light