Poetry: UK

getting there
always going somewhere…
thoughts dripping from my ears
stopped only by a gust of wind
in disguise as words
slipping from your mouth
…where will we head to next?

26 April 2005

the perfect vase… unfinished

i find it amazing how someone can love you so much that even when you turn into an ogress they still search for jobs in a country they never wanted to go to and ways to get a working visa to be with the one they love

and i try to recall how i got here
where i am going
how to be in this moment
when the moments of the future creep up on me slowly
and not having a home or money can still be scary
even if in the arms of the one you love
how admitting defeat is ok
but when your are surrounded by plastic people it seems a little harder
and the dreams of sitting on the beach become a yearning
because escape on the horizon seems lovelier than the reality
that there is no reality
other than the one you mold
and the potters wheel has run amok
clay flies in every direction
my senses are lost in a puddle of terracotta
but i’m still waiting for the sun to shine
and harden it into a place
where the roots of the plant will find their way
through its cracks
and make a place for itself among the rubble
of what once was
the perfect vase

23 April 2005

Snipit of a Snapshot

Fish and chips, minus the fish. Late at night after some pints at the pub. Unwrapping the paper, just enough to keep the rest still warm and crisp. Big fluffy clouds rolling over a grey river, waves crashing up on a fisherman’s washed up, over-used shore. New words for the vocabulary, with a twist. Stone houses that ex-lords and their lovers have long abandoned.


April 2005


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