Friends & Family
glance to where we have been
Gives us the assurance of making
Without which there can be no future.
Is what makes us what we are at this point in time.
change, not what we are,
But what we would like to be.
Our memory, our
Is merely the bottom block of a tower that has no limit.
requires a steady hand and the will,
For us to build a Jacobs ladder
to the stars.
On the face of the space
Where you were.
Moments of pure
Whilst seated here, on the throne,
Transcends all known
And gurus perhaps better known.
The stress and the strain
of this living
Passes, with motions, away
And the deep relief of such
Flushes ones problems away.
Learning to Have
Twisting, turning, winding,
Sinuous dive into
Doing it again and again.
Banking and corkscrewing through
Learning to have fun.
figures pedal silently
Out of the gloom and warm clouds of
appear and vanish
In the frosty air.
Racers shed their winter wool
With cold and nerves. Watches are
Consulted and the race
against the clock
Commences over there.
Pungent liniments to make
legs strong mingle
With warm body smells in the sharp, crisp
scene. Shirts and towels and bikes
And bags lie everywhere.
minute, by the clock, a racer sprints
Away. Arms are swung and feet are
Against the nervous cold. Coffee sweetly steams
A nervous laugh, a slap on the back and
are away. The sleep and cold are gone,
Muscles, rhythmic, stretch and
To make a time thats fair.
Hiss! go the tyres and rasps
Arms begin to ache and legs deaden. A marshal
encouragement and in the gut,
Leaden starts despair.
miserys depths comes swinging, winging
Hope, for off ahead a tiny
As, line unsteady, the minute-man loses
Despairs transposed to him who lags, new
to the legs, for now
In sight the clock man waits, to end
Lungs slow down as the praises grow and dead
find new life. The time is good but he,
The winner, with modesty
Belittles the affair.
Hey, bass, West Indian
Groans Fred, aloud.
White teeth flash,
But in a grin,
Theys more acomin, bass.
Id have your
On a banana boat,
Fred mocks an angry scowl.
Do dey go
To Dudley, bass?
Bastard, says Fred
To the Traffic Warden.
Got to go, buy a radio.
Ive got a crystal set
Yow can afford.
Is passed to Yellow Peril,
Two sugars, Alf?
Coarse of course.
Floated crust. He
Never sin nuthin like it.
Himself a piscatorial legend
Is lost to further
With a cheese roll
And a bottle of
To Little Fred
Insult his customers.
All received the same
Could learn a lot
articulate the perfume of a rose,
Spell the texture of a flower's
Speak the patterns of a hoar frost,
Or express a single feather of
a Swallow's wing,
Then could I tell you how much I love you.
Had a quick
pray today, but You it seems were out.
Down Your local were You? With Your
Mohammed and that fat fella Buddha?
I suppose it's all ambrosia
and skittles these days.
Why aren't You there when I need You?
I think You've gone away and nobody's noticed,
Or you're lying down
After a night out with Your fellow deities.
A sort of divine
That's the trouble with sorting out the world's problems,
take a quick ambrosia to steady Your nerves
And before You know it You're
sleeping it off again.
I'll e-mail You next time, okay?