
Thoughts from the Moon
I’ve watched you, your complicated life
Running like sand through your restless fingers
I want to pull you to me
Like the water and as gravity
To tune you in to me
Show you the simple way
With nothing but me to guide you
Surely you would rise to
Meet the light that steals your heart
Would you still depart?
Or let me lead you to deeper thought
But your smile is fading
Your head is caught
Somewhere in your tangled hair
I want to reach you, take you where
You’ll bask in silver shine
If you could sit with me for just a while
I’d show you where you’re going wrong
Breathe into your soul a lunar song
No need to stumble in the dark
Although I never speak, I am
Always here to listen, give answers
When I can
Just look to the night sky
When you’ve had enough
Of your complicated life
Sweet London
Honey trickles past Big Ben
Glitters in the midday sun
Warm and sticky
The kids are having fun
Jumping in barefoot
Expecting a splash
Wait a minute not so fast
Chocolate flows over Tower Bridge
Smooth and silky like Galaxy
Hot and sweet
Drivers are in ecstasy
Stopping their cars
Wanting to explore
Stop the traffic not so sure
Ice-cream fills the London Eye
Crying in the lunchtime heat
Tepid and tired
Tourists eager to eat
Sitting in their dessert
Like an unchanged nappy
Hold the ride please not so happy
(At three fifteen all will change
With dark clouds overhead)
Kids are screaming near Big Ben
Twisting in a golden pool
Legs and arms stuck
Honey starting to cool
Held fast in glue
Asking to be saved
But parents made their own mistake
They’re yelling in cars on Tower Bridge
Stranded in a cocoa mass
As the chocolate hardens
The vehicles have them trapped
Can’t even open
The door to go home
Family and friends won’t answer the phone
Communication’s ruined
By vanilla flavoured cream
The Eye became blind
Stopped turning mid-stream
People at the top
Shouting down below
When’s rescue? (Better they don’t know*)
*Police are imprisoned behind lion bars
Firemen + doctors held up by double deckers
Running on hot fudge sundae service

Memories
This is it.
The place where she once lived.
Familiarity and nostalgia
Wash over her in crashing waves;
she’s determined not to drown.
Her mind’s eye blinked;
brought them back to her.
Her friends, teenagers back then
finding life by a telephone box,
scratching names with a pfennig.
There’s the bubblegum machine
that gives birth to sticky treats
and the signs that speak German
guiding her home with expert arms
as the summer sun smiles.
Her mother, beckoning
from the ground floor window
which means dinner is almost ready.
Her sister and brothers are squeaking
down a shiny metal slide.
She walks to the apartment block
where disco lights circle a musty cellar.
The girls in peach and lime green,
the boys in denim with eighties hair
scaring each other in the graveyard.
A piece of grit lands in her eye;
she wipes it away with a shaking hand.
The image is gone
Now there’s no bubblegum machine.
The park has given up its toys,
her mother no longer has the key
to that dwelling, another family have
gatecrashed the proceedings.
The special place watches only her
standing alone, reminiscing.
The apartment block is just an apartment block;
the music has died. She sighs
then turns and walks without looking back.

No Feeling
She sat, she stared
She never cared
Even when the plants
Were all withered and dry
No pity fell
In drops from her eye
She was blank, she frowned
In nothingness she drowned
Even when the sky
Shone a sunny delight
No wonder crept
From some hidden light
She blinked, she looked away
No feeling
No
Not today
Rainy Bus Stop Afternoon
Rainy bus-stop afternoon
Pattering on the old tin roof
Like a slow round of applause
A drop of water starts its journey
Down the gritty glass pane
Then merges with another.
Rainy bus-stop afternoon
Cracked bottle-green paint reveals
A dull metal shape below
Looks like an old man on a bicycle
But it’s just a chipping
On a worn-out shelter.
Rainy bus-stop afternoon
Oil dances in a dimpled puddle
Psychedelic rainbow swirls
Rudely interrupted by a car
Whose careless tyres spray
A girl with an umbrella.
Rainy bus-stop afternoon
Swishing, swooshing bus arrives
The air smells like damp pavement
I wipe a lonely raindrop from my cheek
Climb aboard, pay my fare
The rain won’t stay forever.

Little Girl
You, sitting with daisy chain hair
Smiling, without a care, nothing
To disturb you, distort you, corrupt you,
No-one to interrupt you
In your flower-stalk art,
The art of youth. Which goes to prove,
Naivety is best. You’re truly blessed,
In your cartoon pyjamas and your
Little cotton vest, sprinkled scent
Of talcum powder fills the room.
You’re too gorgeous too soon,
Lost inside your fairytale book,
The one with pictures where you
Sit and look, with such innocence.
Those images – will burn themselves
Into your memory, to recall when
You are older. Your pretty eyes smolder,
Hair in bunches and a cheeky grin.
Don’t want anyone to get in,
Tarnish the joy that illuminates
Every inch of your freshly-washed face,
As you read with such concentration.
But to let you grow I must have patience;
Not blind you to reality. You rub your knee,
Hurts where you fell down earlier today,
Scraped on the pavement, you thought
The skin fell away, and searched for it
With no result; your baby tears
Were full of salt, but now you’re happy
As a newborn lamb. I understand,
The magic of your age – before you’re
Overworked and underpaid;
Stained by lovers loved and left;
Scorned by bullies, torn by theft;
Used by friends, scarred by fate;
Skipping lunch in case you’re late,
Despite all reason and good sense
I want to lock you up,
Build a fence, to shield you from
The world and all its self-made
Problems. Please, little girl,
Hold on to your lifted soul,
May your heart stay pure even when
You are old. I watch you now with
So much love, my little princess,
The whitest dove.

Edge of the World
Just sitting on the edge of the world
Waiting …
Feet dangling
Into the infinite unknown
Comforting a star
With consoling hands
Arguing with the moon.
Just sitting on the edge of the world
Waiting…
Hands dancing
Upon the universe tonight
Seducing a cloud
With silvery smiles
Arguing with the moon.
Just sitting on the edge of the world
Waiting…
Eyes sparkling
Within the mystical twilight
Reading a poem
Written on planets
And arguing,
Arguing with the moon.

Sneeze
Someone sneezed. It was a Tuesday
which means you kiss a stranger.
Now his wife is filing for divorce.
The Astronaut’s Mother
His mother worried endlessly
About his journey to the moon;
Packed his lunchbox with sandwiches
Added yogurt and a spoon.
She took his dripping spacesuit
From the old washing machine;
Hung it out on the line to dry
Scrubbed his lunar boots clean.
She wrote him precise directions
For his lonely trip to the stars;
In case he broke down she told him
About a service stop on Mars.
She kissed his cheek that morning
The only goodbye that was fitting;
Asked for a postcard by no-air mail
Then went back to her knitting.
Asylum Seeker
(Published in Aesthetica Magazine Issue 11)
Washed up on the shoreline
Washed out
Even the sun accuses me
With its blinding glare
An unseen drummer
Pounding torment in my head
Mouth arid, parched
Like the rainless Sahara
Stomach groans, teeth aching to bite
Longing for food and water
What will happen to me now?
I lost my wife and daughter
On the journey.
Broken free from the trailer
Broken heart
Escape from the raging driver
Who brandishes his hate
With lead piping
That shattered bone in my arm
Terrified, tearing
On some kind of motorway
Body crying, hands begging to hold
Desperate for love and comfort
Don’t think I can carry on
Cannot make the effort
I fall to my knees.
Picked up by blazing blue light
Picked apart
Thrust into a lonely cell
Beg for an interpreter
To explain why
But my words are only heard
By callous bars
Who proudly prevent my exit
Eyes swollen, throat choking on air
Pleading to God for mercy
Don’t send me back, start screaming
I’ve caused controversy
They stare at me.
Inside a hostel now
Inside out
That’s how my being survives
Questioned by the Home Office
Apparently
Not enough evidence found
By man in suit
Who stamped my papers ‘REFUSED’
Brain unbalanced, soul without hope
I am becoming weaker
Deportation, degradation
Land of the free detests
Asylum seeker.

Parrot
Squawking secret
Reflects on day’s events
Shatters killer’s glass alibi
Mirror

Thoughts of Marc Antony
(Published in From The Heart, Forward Press, 2005)
Here, in Tarsus, ruby sandals leave traces of her step in the dust
She drifts towards me with the poise and grace of a vulture
I draw in the scent of her ebony ringlets, aroma of sweet almond oil
Now I see beads woven and strung in beautiful patterns
Inlaid with gold rosettes.
She is near, and I’m a victim – lured by those dark and dusky eyes
Enhanced by viper-coloured eyelids, and a drop of moisture
Upon ochre-tinted lips, slightly parted – an enticing and colourful smile
The skin upon her cheek is as white as the lotus flower
Tinged with fuchsian glow.
Around her head a ring of shining cobras, in honey yellow coils
Gleaming horns rise on either side of a precious solar disk
The wind rustles her sea-green cloak, revealing a crocus-yellow gown
I glimpse some scarlet silk beneath as it twinkles in the moonlight
She glitters like a treasured jewel.
They warned me she would be alluring, but nothing has prepared me
A flame ignites within my heart – my blood is white-hot passion
Her smouldering gaze melts into mine, consuming me with trembling fever
Caesar, now I comprehend seduction in its many forms, for tonight
Spellbound, I’ve fallen for her.
She
She,
her fingers gnarled, trembling
like knotted branches of an aged tree,
clasps a linen shroud – which, like
a cloud, settles around her weathered face.
Nameless one, hides her expression
behind a makeshift burka, one eye
watching with curiosity, but
she is afraid. Who can blame her,
being a widow never became her.
Her husband put on his war boots,
marched out of her life, then his own.
She,
sells eggs and goats, trying
to make a decent living, desperate
to help her ailing mother.
To God she prays, please let her recover.
Faceless one, whose dreams were shattered
when habibi breathed his last. How can
she leave the past, or even escape?
She is afraid. Who can blame her,
the last attempt they stripped and maimed her.
She aches for freedom, yearns for love,
her childhood home now merely dust,
She.

Feeling Diluted
Feeling diluted, adrift on your thoughts
Like a castaway on an unsettled sea
A life of flooding, a tangle of weeds
A spatter of teardrops where dewdrops should be
So sit by the river, draw stars in the sand
Listen carefully to the stream as it flows
Absorb the trickle, the rustle of reeds
And move like the water – adapt as you go

The Centipede Story
This guy was lonely and so he decided life would be more fun if he had a pet. So he went to the pet store and told the owner that he wanted to buy an unusual pet.
After some discussion, he finally bought a centipede which came in a little white box to use for his house.
He took the box back home, found a good location for the box, and decided he would start off by taking his new pet to the bar to have a drink.
So he asked the centipede in the box, “Would you like to go to Frank’s with me and have a beer?”
But there was no answer from his new pet.
This bothered him a bit, but he waited a few minutes and then asked him again, “How about going to the bar and having a drink with me?”
But again, there was no answer from his new friend and pet.
So he waited a few minutes more, thinking about the situation.
He decided to ask him one more time; this time putting his face up against the centipede’s house and shouting, “Hey, in there! Would you like to go to Frank’s place and have a drink with me?”
A little voice came out of the box ………..
……
……
……
……
……
……
……
“I heard you the first time! I’m just putting on my shoes”

Inner Peace
By following the simple advice I read in an article, I have finally found inner peace. The article read:
“The way to achieve inner peace is to finish all the things you’ve started.”
So I looked around the house to see all the things I started and hadn’t finished and before coming to work this morning I have finished off a bottle of Bacardi, 1/2 a bottle of red wine, a small box of chocolates, 3 shots of tequila, a can of cider and some cheese triangles.
You have no idea how good I feel
You may pass this on to those you feel are also in need of Inner Peace
