Brick Lane

My old friend from far afield flew in today
She had been lost in the recent storm
That broke the branches and ripped the roofs
Of her own quiet green country village.

She flew in an a bluster of air
She glided and flapped and struggled
To stay alive in the gusting gale
That battered the country.

As the wind abated she landed
Her tiny feet grabbed hold of a weather vane
She ruffled her feathers and took a look around
In front of her stood a busy bagle shop.

She was hungry, she leapt down to the ground
Looking for crumbs and eyeing with her brown eye
The cream cheese bagles being consumed by the peckish people
Shoo they went, shoo said the proprieter.

She fluttered away but not far away
She circled and landed on a pram parked outside a brewery.
She saw the bustle of resturanteurs calling to passersby
And the appetising sundries in the windows of the delicatessants.

Coo-coo I went when I saw her
Cooly taking the crumbs from beneath the feet of tourists
She fluttered away without hearing me
Onto a roof above a craftsmans workshop.

I followed trying to get her attension
Below a car honking at the crowd came to a stop in Brick Lane

 

 

 

 

 

The Colours of Life

The Colours of Life

There is a thick fat yellow that glows more warmly than gold
There is an unconscious dark blue so dense that it supports your weight as you walk
There is a deep dark blue-green that oozes like a swamp of essential life
If I could drown the world with these colours, all governments would cease and eyes would see

Since My Hurt Went Wrong

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We don’t seem to talk anymore
We don’t seem to meet every day
We never make plans for a trip
It hurts in every way
Since this change in our friendship
I wonder where I belong
Since this lull in relations
Since my hurt went wrong

You’re more preoccupied than ever
I never know who you are
You told me all your history
You really are a star
Since you told me all your worries
You seem not to belong
And all your pain and suffering
Has made my hurt go wrong

If you wonder where this is going
You see I wonder too
It always seems to be snowing
Will the sun ever come shining through?
I’m trying to be your best friend
But I’m not so very strong
I can’t say the things that I’m thinking
Since my hurt went wrong

The honey melts down

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The honey melts down and reveals the wire grill.
An old love is a faceless icon of the Virgin Mary;
I hear a tremolo as the voice demands obedience.

Who am I to be cared about? I am nothing but a grain of sand in your life;
A bit of grit on your tongue, but you are the full orchestration in the lung playing.

As the honey melts the cold steel mesh is seen, gone is the dream.
The skeleton walks onto a film, birds drop cluster bombs,
And then run and tell their moms.

How hard it is to answer questions in your sleep:
To be confined from the help of family and friends,
To stand there in the thundering darkness as meaningless as a shadow,
To have your memory challenged by a caster of spells.

Is Love like Gold Left Behind

They say, do not compare this to spiritual love. But love is a palette of colours; love is a compass of points; love is the circle from night to day; love is the lifetime and more.

Can they say: you are not allowed all the colours?
Can they say: you cannot travel to the four corners?
Can they say: you must be awake in the day and be asleep at night?
Can they say: you should only live half of your life?

Is love a picture half finished?
Is love a journey never started?
Is love like gold left behind?

Love is good news and bad news
Love is the whole twelve notes
Love is the whole chart of the elements
Love is the leader and you are the follower

What’s left of love is still light
What’s left os love is still food
What’s left of love is still love
Love times love times love