Love

I wanted adventure in love
Love was
A billboard
Across the years

I wanted
To play the game
To laugh
With a big mouth

I wanted
Reality
To flash its light
On the road
To love

I wanted
To supplement my life
With a basket
Of experiences
To carry at my side

It was a want and a need
It was a vision completed
Out of neglect and loneliness
Divided by the years
Magnified by the future

The war on love

The war on love was not about you
It was neither male nor female
It did not stop you falling in love
It did not start you loving

The war on love did not start with you
It did not start with holding hands
It did not start with your kisses
It did not end your affair

The war on love began before the world
It began like a dream in the eyes of an angel
And before it would lose – it had promised itself
That it would strip all the love from your bones

A kiss from me

A kiss from me has become a garland of rain
A handful of dried autumn leaves

I could never betray you with a kiss
My kiss is a burning feather in the wind

The Lord looks down with a sad heart
What kind of kiss is this that no one can feel?

What kind of kiss is this – a crisp, a dried page
But written on the page, written on the page . . .

Love is a spoken language

Love is a spoken language
As flowers are language
As the height of mountains are a language
As stars are a language

Love is a spoken language
As the sea is a language
As a river is a language
That you learn to hold within you

There is nothing
That love cannot get to know
Everything unfolds into loves arms

Dressed in chains

Here is a photo of my love
She was mature for her age
I hold it up above my head
I am not afraid

It Is a photo of my love
She was so beautiful
I cut it from a photo book
When we were still at school

One told another and the cops came
They confiscated my memory
They said it was wrong

It had all come back to me
I thought I was strong
accused by a photo
Are my memories wrong?

The heart knows no borders
It flies, it falls
Sometimes it is but a dream you have
To fill your empty halls

Tipped into unreality
Of boyhood pains
Again, the heart is broken
And the man put in chain

Love is the number in mathematics

Love is the number in mathematics
That always makes mathematics perfect

Let the crowbar men come along with their crowbars
Let them try to separate the perfect number
Let them try to part love from it’s additions

And its additions are its creations
And its sum is love

The workers want to be paid
So they work hard to finish their work
They can see the grey clouds
They can feel the chill air
They know that rain is coming
So they work hard to finish the job

They want to finish the job
They want to get out of there

The rain may flood the ground
the storm may destroy their work

But if they work hard to get the job done
And when it’s done they will get paid

She was just an ordinary woman

she was just an ordinary woman
but more than that she was love

she was wood broken into splinters
but you could not break love

love as bold as gold
love as bold as the spirit of gold

love that you find in the earth
love that is dug out of the earth

love formed in the forge of continents
lasting longer than the continents

gold formed in the earth
lasting longer than the earth

when the earth is no more
gold will survive
when the flesh is no more
love will survive

The heart loves

The heart loves
our mental health breaks

the heart loves
and loves and loves and loves

our minds float like boats on the rushing tide

the heart loves
it’s such a simple statement but true

the mind never knows what to do

a hundred psychiatrists attend
but the heart is the heart until the end

the heart loves
it is made that way

it loves all through the night
and all through the day

your thoughts often have to give way

the heart loves
that’s all you need to say

Like when you tried

Like when you tried
To recover a letter
From a letter box

Your whole being
Was in trepidation
And concentrated
On retrieving the letter
That revealed your heart
To another

And posting your fingers
Through the door
You felt stuck there

As the recipient
Stared in amazement
At your tiny fingers
With the painted nails
Doing a puppet dance
And wondered
Should he applaud
The impromptu performance
Of guilty pinkies
And goofy fingers
As they retrieved
The letter at last
And ran for it