POEMS

BLOOM (1996)

It danced gently in the wind, as it reached towards the heavens.

In bloom, it enjoyed the warmth given from the sun above.

For its beauty, it's plucked from the security it has known.

Offering no resistance, it's now cradling in a strangers hand.

Maybe it will be cared for, placed on a pedestal, for all to see.

Maybe.

Maybe it will be forgotten, even in memory, replaced by another.

Its petals falling one by one from its grasp.

Slowly dehydrating in the sun - returning its seed to the earth.

Maybe its seed will grow again.

Maybe.

SMALL WORLD APOCALYPSE (1997)

The battle is over,

over so little time,

time enough to destroy an eternity.

The end of all known,

known now as memories,

memories of happiness, and of those that destroyed it.

The life has been drained,

drained from my world,

world of everything, now almost nothing.

The emptiness needs filling,

filling with what it had once before,

'before' is now only a memory.

The end of my world!

LAST TRAIN HOME (1997)

I'm Cold.

Its getting late,

and I'm travelling home

If that's where this train goes.

I feel comforted by the gentle motion.

Yet the soothing noise is nauseous at times.

My eyes feel heavy, and I let them close for a moment.

Across from me, sits a man. Staring at me. Looking through me.

He has a kindly face. One that has seen much. And it's wearing a frown.

Suddenly. The darkness outside is interrupted, by the blurred lights of a tunnel.

I close my eyes again. Waiting for the softened noise to return. As before.

The face, of the man opposite me has changed. It now holds a grin.

Slowly the ends of his mouth return to how they were before.

I close my eyes again to avoid his penetrative stare.

The train slows, reaching its destination.

The man reaches for his white cane.

Pulling himself up to his feet.

I watch him become distant.

Finally I follow.

THE FOOL AND THE SAGE (1997)

Quite a pair, the Fool and the Sage.

One was a child, the other had age.

Staring at each other, for quite a while.

One with manner, the other, no style.

Both raise a finger, to the same height.

And a remark is heard of, 'inapposite!'

The fingers are lowered, and hidden away.

And both consider what else to say.

The Fool says 'Good-bye', and parted his way.

The Sage thought also, that he best not stay.

In unison they go, but deep in their heart.

They know, not even the mirror can show them apart.

ON REFLECTION (1997)

Within your eyes, I see a new world.

A world full of complexities.

Where lots is hidden.

One with much to offer,

and a great many places to explore.

Within your eyes, I see a child.

A child of playfulness.

Longing to be found.

One with much to offer,

innocently accepting what is given.

Within your eyes, I see a lover.

A lover full of emotions.

Fearing rejection.

One with much to offer,

and not knowing whether to give.

Within your eyes.

My reflection smiles back.

ROSE TINTED WINDOWS (1997)

My world is crowded, yet I am alone.

There's no one to turn to, and no place to run.

My world is so small, the walls feel so close.

My body's restricted, my mind comatose.

From my grey world, I look upon another.

One of hope, at least for it's dwellers.

With jealousy I look though these windows of mine.

Envying what I see all the time.

But out though the door that takes me outside.

I find just how much, my windows did hide!

WELCOME (1997)

From the start, it seemed so nice.

With my new room to live in.

Just the right size, and all that I needed.

Coloured with a gentle shade of pink.

It felt so safe. So warm.

Then it all went wrong.

I had to flee my home.

My walls had started to cave in.

No longer welcome, I made my way out.

Out in to the cold air.

Outside I was scared.

Nothing was familiar anymore.

I looked around uncertainly. Confused.

In my state, I was moved to a new place.

It felt safe again for now. But for how long?

Another nine months, or forever?

TICK TOCK (1998)

Tick tock, tick tock,

said the restless clock,

while waiting for the hour.

Its over-decorated hands,

they mimic Time's sands,

over which it has no power.

Showing apparent haste,

and not a moment will it waste,

for what can it not wait?

With the resounding chimes,

ringing at regular times,

only a perpetual headache is its fate!