Assessment

  

I am a victory

Strength in numbers, an algerbraic equation
that has no real solution, such as life

Life is a bowl of cherries
for a hedonist. For the rest of us
it’s sticky

Glacé, perhaps

Morning has broken.

Awaking violently from life 

in floral fresh bedding

Red raw eyes dry the scenes of

yesterday and her brothers

leaving space for warmth to crack

the panes of glass

wrapped in a safety of linen

How foolish was I? 

Viewing worlds cemented in time, like a movie; replaying again 

and again 

Funny

There is dew on the window cill 

and milk on the mat, just like before

yet everything is different 

just as it should be

wrapped in clean sheets of perspective 

served with strongly brewed tea 

Colour Me In

Paint me in watercolours

to see the true haze

of my affection.

Pastels refuse to blend easily.

Charcoal: too black

on white.

Take your time to brush

real beauty,

putting down the pencil – no rehearsals

no lines.

Just colour me in.

Restore my picture,

stroking turquoise and crimson and buttercup

yellows forward.

To bring me life.

Gamble Anonymously.

Dealt a bad hand

by a cheat

A hand that left her weak

and scratching under the table, for

lost riches and dreams.

A smoke packet – scrapped

scratched on the back

The Rules.

She was taken aback by the writing

beautiful scrawl made

exciting by a different hand.

A new hand.

She put the words in her pocket –

stained her heart, through the fabric

Made a map. Found it –

A Fresh Game.

She played this hand with hands of knowledge

Went to college

Won it.

Bought her own table

made of marble

and drank champagne.

The drink rests upon that table, marble

adorned by the coasters

of her first hand

The Jokers.

Who’s laughing now? A smile upon her face.

Some Music For Your Sunday

I am in love with this man. There is nothing more to say.

I Don’t Like Chat Up Lines.

“Get your coat, you’ve pulled.”

“Pulled what?”

“You know what I mean.”

“Do you?”

“What?”

“Know what you mean.”

“Erm. Yeah.”

“You don’t sound so sure.”

“Oh, I’m sure, alright.”

“So I get my coat. What then?”

“We could go to my place. Or yours. I don’t mind, I;/”

“What then?”

“What?”

“What then? Once I am at your place. Or mine.”

“We could get naughty.”

“What do you class as naughty?”

“You know.”

“Do you?”

“Jesus!”

“Where?”

“Stop mucking me about.”

“Why am I?”

“Because you know exactly what;/”

“But I want to know if you do.”

“What?”

“Know.”

“Know what!”

“You know…”

“No I don’t know!”

“You don’t?”

“NO!”

“Didn’t think so.”

“So…?”

“Now we know.”

“Is that a no?”

“Yes.”

The Merry Go Round.

I ride a horse

with crimson feathers

and you kneel in the

carriage

patiently watching

me ride

all Godiver and no

stockings.

Shocking that you

should see a dismount

at such a speed

as we are at,

merrily going

round

carouseling

to the sound

of an organ

that plays us.

Again and again.

Physically perplexed.

My friend Newton
had a theory
that clearly
I’d fallen for you.

I told him
how science scared me.
That words were what
I was about.

He said it’s not
just physicality.
Explained the force of gravity.
Attraction and its pull.

”But I don’t want to fall.”,
I told him,
and he just laughed all
that he could.

“You crazy old man. How
can a girl like me
believe, in a
world of so much tripe?”

He just held his sides
hysterically.
“Oh my poor, innocent love.”
He chuckled, holding me tight.

But I just frowned. Watched
him grapple.
“Forgive me, my sweet!”
He managed to speak,

“You can have my apple, if you like.”

A Distorted Disorder

A man once told me that

I didn’t have to be beautiful

to turn him on.

But that was through the radio

with no portal for vision.

I believed him for a time

until I

was old enough to

see imperfections.

Detection at the earliest point

was the key. For me, anyway.

So I went on seeking,

detecting my own

illicit faults and

I gave up the radio

for a mirror.

The more I looked,

the less I saw and

that was still not enough

to allow myself

the music again.

And that was me, for a time.

Just staring at myself.

Blind.

Through purple rain.

Religion For The Atheist

I come as the Messenger
to proclaim the word of your Lord.
Your God.

Forever with you; he will not desert you in your hour of need.

He is a healer.
And for all you non believers, I grant
you permission to put him to the test.

Because he will not fail.

The giver of life, providing his months
for your gestation;
allowing you and your children in turn, to pass through him.
To develop under his watchful eye.

He is all seeing.
There can be no secrets from his miracle
that is memory.
Divine truths, for each and every one of us. You and I.

He is stealth.
Operating in the shadows, continual
and constant, silently working. Always.

Ever changing, forward thinking and yet there,
at the beginning.
He is the beginning. And the end.

He is you.
The force behind your future self, making you
what you are
today.
He is your future self. Your own evolution.

But beware.

You must be aware;

He is impatient;
Waiting for no one and his brother. He cannot take you
back and that fantasy will remain.
Just that.

He laughs at the present.
Stares it in the face and takes his glory. For he is nothing but a phantom of imagination.
Nothing but just past.

And he is cruel; all powerful. He can alter your perception.
A master of thievery; he steals what is wasted,
takes what you
think you can have,
tomorrow.

He is tomorrow.
And if you are lucky, he will give you yours.

Because he is the end.
And the end that I speak of, is the end of you.

So take heed.

Time is your God…

Treat him well.