I open my mouth
To taste Selene's ambrosia
She pour it to me -
A cascade of silver rays
Overspilling
Its sweetness burns my eyes
Its bitterness
Stings my lips
- The pain
Makes me want to bite my lips
But I love feeling this tingling
Yes. Her wine is bitter-sweet
It's lonely to drink alone
I raise my hand
And ask for another cup
And once more
She pours it to me
In a graceful movement
Of her ethereal hands
She showers it to me
Feeling its coldness on my skin

Olympic Aleppo…

Who dares say we’re all the same,
as blood flows freely in Aleppo.
Will Russia or China take the blame,
as introversion creates another ghetto.

Syrian people fight in dusty streets,
praying that death will pass them by.
The great athlete who now competes,
wins a medal then decides to cry.

In Olympic Aleppo, games are started,
next up, dodge the hot explosive shell.
This is not an event for the faint hearted,
if your timings off prepare to meet hell.

A watery coronation
of sorts
today
Three 'Queens'
proud bows
sail to the
bay

Sparkling reflection
stock
their finest
regal hues
displayed
in Cunard's
Dock

Southampton's
proud dames
tread water lightly
to bask in reflected
glory
rightly due

The gleaming glamour
game played by
the seafaring
pilgrims
on their
transatlantic tale

so really nice
like swinging on a swing
a gal in mind
another like a ring
around the girdle of mine ….
singing like sing-a ,sing-a roses
all poetry disposes
what love of the breeze
will make you and her freeze
as the two of you entwine
to make sounds
like the hail’s falling on a tapered roof
then falling on your heads
making both feel nude
that’s the fun in singing
happy songs like the two do
winter flower inside the room
and the breeze outside
none can touch the other

It ticks like a clock
But a clock it is not
It beats like a drum
Till the rhythm is done
It cries like a child
For what went before
It all starts to happen
With a knock on the door
***
It swims like a fish
Lying grilled on your plate
It shouts like a boss
When you’re once again late
It sends you a smile
Wrapped up in a frown
It says to look up
When you have to look down
***
It does make a sound
When alone in the wood
It sometimes says no

"The nineties made terrible camaros.
Those things were the nastiest cars i've ever seen."

study hall is not quite as silent as i was sure it would be
without you keeping me from doing my homework
or forcing me to do just that
sometimes you just want to hide
and we can't
but i couldn't blame you.

"What's in a name?"

If Carolina wears a caribina
and Charlotta has got a
car

Will Phillip pass the
stirrups and Matt
his hat?

Why does Wycliffe
need his handcuff
and Gracie need a lift?

Will that be too
much for Smith
If Sally eats
the pith?

Can Heather find
the feather in
her pillow for
little Willow?

What's in a name?
By evidence
no substance
and that's a real shame!

Someday he will come. When the timing is right
he'll ride to my door on a horse pure and white.
Perhaps, even better, a big jaguar -
not the wild animal … I mean the car -
with roses on long stems, chocolate delights.

He’ll whisk me away to his house on the heights,
the tale of my dull, boring life to re-write,
perchance even, one day, to make me a star.
Someday he will come

Silent screams take root and flower
cloaking the garden of our mind with nightmares.
Memories pulsate next to a waterfall of tears
as we listen for the goodbyes that never came.
Today like yesterday and every other
we recall your smiles your words softly spoken
and your presence reassuring.
Time erodes the past but refreshes the memory
each likened to a page from the book of life.
Mothers, fathers, uncles, brothers
sisters, aunts, strangers and others
remembered with love respect and dignity.

Old Leather Heart..

What ails you now old leather heart,
like me can you not bear her grieving.
From one that’s always been a part,
of my joys, or sadness when leaving.

You loved her as did I my friend,
she did so brighten our dreary lives.
We must remain on task until it’s end,
a pledge, made on blood wet knives.

We’ve travelled far and seen so much,
but left a great many comrades behind.
Terrible times we’ve had lives to touch,
on a hard road not marked nor signed.