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Debt ©

Life owes you nothing
You were given it as gift
And time will take it back again
As through its sands you sift
So tumble with the tides and build
Your castles in the air
let the winds of change direct you
Hither, here, and there
or tack your sails,weigh anchors
Point your prow into a wave
And spare one for the dolphins
As you sail towards the grave

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maybe ©

Knowledge accurse'd fascination
Ignorance itself inbred despair
Time indicates if love's infatuation
Depends upon both of you being there

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linen ©

Focus form from information
Force emotion into words
Write them down and read them back
Or say them loud and feel absurd
use the words to ease the flow
try to let the feelings go
wash, then ebb and settle, slowly
rinsing off the pain
find the form that comforts most
lay to rest sorrows ghost
offer up your words in toast
to friends, we'll meet again

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facts ©

Facts in time dispel the fears
the nightmares lived for 18 years
unfounded, on assumption
the truth in fact quite often seems
in many ways the stuff of dreams
a hopeful extreme unction
we loved. He lived, they're both the same
he died, we cried, we'll laugh again
and say without compunction
he was, he is, and we are, two
he left us love to share with you
so let us gather function

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then ©

now clocks tick
first in harmony
next syncopating
As the metronome factory
post earthquake
plotting a path
to where time exists
no longer

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if ©

if you ignore me I'll go away
if you want me to I'll stay
but rather that, I'd have you think
my words considered, not in drink
but if in spirits you take note
I'll still be pleased with what I wrote

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still ©

our loss
and will
our son,
Could, we'd had loved him longer
he loves us
he did

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aftermath ©

it's been a while
since I last wrote poetry
in the shadows
avoiding the light
afraid of disturbing
anyone special

we spoke last night
words of childhood familiarity
but so strange to each other
happy words, too
and many
we bartered for laughs

and though the words have slipped

from short-term memory
the mood
such ease and love
are blessedly familiar



Irene and me ©

Irene and me
we don't make love.
but we know how to find it,

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We wept ©

We feared
then cried,
but hoped
Dared to believe
but not too much
above all, trusted
The spirit of truth called
First in whisper
"we are one
and the same
and together"
We asked
and from the spoil
Were re-united with our joy
And then
We wept

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Hell ©


Hell part 1 ©

One night I thought I'd come to terms with death,
matched the pot and settled to the game
I'd bet that even with my dying breath
no other-world would ever have a claim
my arrogance had led me to suppose
that heav'n and hell exist to quell the mind
and discipline the rustic to his chores
with offers of an abstract paid in kind
so that night as I laid down on my bed
I laughed at what the reaper had in store
I raised the ante just a bit and said
I'll raise this much and then I'll raise no more
take this shell and put it with the rest
if that's the bet you really want to make
my wife, and kids, and closest friends will jest
and very quickly organise a wake
they'll see your bet in context soon enough
as another devious dying desp'rate plea
to take the credit for a lot of stuff
and lay all blame on probability
you claim to have the influence and power
to cast my soul into the pit of hell
well, now the time is near, I sense the hour
lets play, let's roll the dice and let them tell

Hell part 2 ©

in wakened dreams the dice were spun we settled down to play
the game was done, it seemed I'd won to live another day
the shadows of the night had played till morning brought her glory
to cast the shadows into shade and thereby hangs a story
It started off a normal day I smiled quite a lot
but softer than the normal way. such happiness, I thought
this day a day from somewhere sent to make up for the gloom
of the mood and feelings of despair th'impending sense of doom
What Hell is this? I challenged fate this heav'nly morning, clear
if that's the best you can offer, mate I think your pension's near
I said good-byes to those I love and fondly, too, for life
had blessed me with a roof above 2 children and a wife
a job to do, and wages too a car to get me there
a night out every month or two but never cash to spare
reason'bly contented with minor aspirations
friendships long cemented, and very few frustrations
children reaching adulthood, parents proud as lions
and, confident of character admire their self reliance
who gave their love to all the world to do as our sons chose
no matter how their lives unfurled, whatever friends or foes
or lovers crossed or lovers true or fortune, fame, or fears
whatever life beheld them we'd share their joys and tears

Hell part 3 ©

that evening Mother Glasgow steeped herself
in a monsoon not of anybody's making
nature took her tissues from the shelf
and blew her nose and left the city shaking
her waters broke, her legacy turned breech
and stirred the contents of her bleeding womb
blades were sunk, brave heroes tried to reach
and snatch potential from the gaping tomb
foolish question answered, not to be!
but therein lies a truth in deed and fact
it matters most for matter just to be
and not rely on politics or tract
prosperity depended on the wealth
generated by the energy of coals
the blackest sufferings, despair, ill-health
and laws that gave coal-masters deeds to souls
those days are gone, and now, sophisticated,
we measure our prosperity on charts
and hope we are more loved than we are hated
in spite of all the goodness in our hearts
for all the ways we've profited and parted
there's something that we really can't forget
however far we come from where we started
we've still to pay the interest on our debt
which brings me to the point of this strange musing
if there's a point at all, and who can tell?
The fact remains I find it quite confusing
did I waken, or is this what's meant by hell?


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National Poetry Day ©

Hang Danny Deevers
Shoot the Albatross
Ride the road from Ghent to Aix
Paradise IS lost

Let Kubla Khan in Xanadu
decree his pleasure dome
let Tollcross fill with Daffodills
it still wont bring John home

Let Lochinvar rot in the west
let ploughmen have his steed
let romans lend their other ears
the fact remains, John's deid

Let moving fingers, writ, move on
lets bards invoke their prayer
its still a fact, when I go home
John still won't be there

but Irene will, and so will Paul
and here right now are you
and who knows what tomorrow brings
for now, that has to do

though words might conjure images
to overcome and grieve us
come what may, at the end of the day
John will never leave us

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Goodbye ©

The time has come to say goodbye.
I hope I made you laugh and cry.
If I raised even one small smile
then all my effort's been worthwhile.
But if not, then I'm sad to say.......
Shit happens...........

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back ©

When I look back on the poetry I've written
I feel I should correct a line or two
Then realise the words fell while I, smitten,
Indulged myself in fantasy of you
That thought then makes me pause and to consider
The reasons why I chose the words I chose
They weren't to impress the highest bidder
They were written thus because I don't do prose

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i think ©

I think I know what you think you're saying
and I certainly know what you said
but its hard to reconcile the two
with the pictures in my head

Say it to me one more time
use a different form of word
cos seen from my perspective
the idea seems absurd

let me say it back to you
from a slightly different slant
then match my pictures up to yours
before we say we cant

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