Dog

The Sun warms my face.
The Wind ruffles my fur.

The Day has begun,
and this is how things are.

The Ground flies past,
my fleet paws.
My eyes are looking near and far
The Day has begun,
and this is how things are.

My nose finds all the smells;
other dogs.
cats!
deer and an old leaking car.
The Day has begun,
and this is how things are.

There are people to greet,
with a wagging tail.
And things to chase.
And good food to eat.
and at the end of it all,
there is a sofa on which to sleep.

and this, is how things, are.

Weary To The Bone

Eyes burn like grit is in them

Dull pain through every limb 

and that ache in the back stabs again and again 

and again

The taste in the mouth

like stale coffee and ash

and your attention can wander

so might start to crash

Rage flares easily, sparked by any slight annoyance

but there is not much fight

the embers kicked over, through up some sparks, 

but the fire in your heart has little heat and even less light.

no joy

no smile

no thought

no fear

and all the while

It does not end

Weary to the Bone

you continue.

I have gone back to the house again

 

I have gone back to the house again.

In the shadows of my mind

In the remnants and shards of old memories

I have walked through the front door again

The floorboards have squeaked, light has bounced off the walls and I have struggled with my bags into the hall.

The doors have been open and it is Summer outside, and I have walked across the bright clean room to the French doors and balcony and looked down on the cool green garden and out on to the cool green wood

And you have called to me from the garden

As you sit in the sun

And the cat has appeared and meandered up the path, up the patio, to the back door, hoping I will feed him.

And the sounds of the city is muted

And the swallows’ cries, as they dart above the roof tops, fills the air

And in the house it is cool and shady and the sofa waits,

With piles of papers to read near by

I kick off my shoes, go down the wide stairs,

In the kitchen, the tiles are cool under my feet

The cat meets me and meows a hello.

In the shadows of my mind

In the remnants and shards of old memories

I do this again.

And again.

And again.

I have gone back to the house again

But I have not, cannot, go home.

14^th June 2009

Over the Wide, Wild Open Sea

I am lost.

With eyes open I cannot see my way

no map.

no compass.

Rudderless I do not steer

the wind blows east, I go east.

It blows west, I go west.

over the wide, wild open sea.



The land is a memory I cannot bring to mind

the trees, the grass the verdant hillside

The snow in winter

The blossom in spring

all recollections are dim

All there is the ocean and the big blue sky

the wind blows east, I go east.

It blows west, I go west.

over the wide, wild open sea.



Did once the land beneath my feet not move?

was there once soil and not sun bleached wood?

was once my bed not a deck, my pillow not bulwark?

the wind blows east, I go east.

It blows west, I go west.

over the wide, wild open sea.

Dreams of Darkness

Dreams of darkness chase me

in the small hours
in the time between yesterday and today

I wake

Stare outward and see nothing but the night
Stare inward and see nothing but the night

the wind may blow in the trees
the rain may hit the window pain

the snoring next to me, will probably be loud and grating

but the silence all around echos,
echos in me

"you are never alone, not really...."

you are always alone, really.

No one else is ever in your head