Happy birthday

Many happy birthdays
Long sundays
And sunrays
Expectant mondays
And fun days
Well used tuesdays
Good news days
Tender wednesdays
And friends days
Cut and dried fridays
And fly aways
Chattering saturdays
Good latter days
Try and succeed days
Brave days
Well worth days
And always happy birthdays.

On a return

I missed your love.
Missed loving you
For time, a long time.
Until distractions, complications
And daily degradation
Made me just miss love,
Miss care and company
Miss being something someone wants of me,
Miss meaning
In this quieting
This careful contemplation
Of my hard drive humming
A moment's movement
Of my central heating
And the company of the wireless bleating.

Ginger tea

Ginger tea
Was prescribed
By the witch
And I inbibe it
Writing poetry.

Its not that she’s evil
Just magic
Not white or black
A mixed magic
One half, two quarters
To be exact.

She’s fetching
But there’s never any object
Clearly bewitching
But I can avoid that.

It’s a rarity
Intelligent, curious company
I guess that why I sit here
Alone writing poetry.

Papers

When I sit down with my papers now
They don’t always roll and rhyme,
Sometimes now my papers
Are made of grids and lines.

And where before the score
Sang always of the past
Now it sings about the future
And regiments my tasks.

In my papers I find orders
Of all the things that I might do
The past now represented
By single line struck through.

In my papers,
There was much confusion
Often I would loose them, abuse them
Or get lost in sketched illusions.

But now I use my paper
To store my thoughts for later
So all the little potterings
Add up to something greater.

It’s a marvel
Now in my paper I find plans,
And they might not make the weather
But they tell me where I stand.

Painting the town

The pains you cannot confront
Perhaps you can paper over
With the craft of wash and brush.
Like you do the plain,
Pale and thin dream caught
Flat in your reflection
Watching a new layer of foundation
Grow up over the bruises
From swift draughts drawn up
Inspiring new abuses sustainable
Within this old, crowded amalgm
Of Self, blinded to the pain of the past
By the distress flare smile that leaves
To join will-o-wisps frozen in amber
Beyond the glass.

The magic has been paved over in this city.

28th November

Dear Gorgeous,

Could you afford us some spare moments?
Save a few up and keep them together,
So that I can come by and take you to
A comedy, gallery, Galilee or whatever.

If we gathered up some hours
And squeezed them real tight,
Perhaps they'd drip some minutes
That we could cast into the night.

It's just in this metropolis
There’s much that gets on top of us
And time between here and there
Adds up to such a loss.

But somewhere amid bricks and aisles,
Paving stones and tube
There are golden instants, moments, whiles
We seldom ever use.

Save a few for me.

Then maybe if you’re so inclined
Spend some of that precious time
Over tea in Galilee.

Some similes

So silliness
Some simple similes.
You are like the morning dew to me,
Disappearing into sunshine.
That night like a shady tree
A sun-kissed rest that’s cool and kind.
Can I be extravagant
And say lying with you
Was like touching firmament?
Better not, unless I throw in
You’re finer than Kate Moss on top.
But then why stop?

It’s late, but loosing sleep over you
Is like the only dream I’ve known.
Your hips move like horn section
In Nina Simone, feeling good.
Seeing you was like seeing trees
When before all I saw was wood.
Being alone before was like meditation
Now it’s like wondering
Whether there’ll be another train at the station.
In your eyes I saw the birth of creation,
You holding me felt like a slave’s emancipation.
Possibly, maybe, going for a touch of sensation,
Buts that’s what you are,
More than an A-List occasion.