I may not deserve to be loved
but I have served my time
in the hard knocks school
maybe breaking some rules
but trying to learn
Too long I have felt as if nobody feels me,
wrapped in a bubble that touch doesn’t pierce
locked in a transparent vacuum,
surrounded by screens,
trying to silence my head
‘I see nothing but love in your eyes,” she said
Her words raised me up from the dead.
a summer breeze blew in today
it swept me off my feet
all the world has turned about
my madness is complete
but this is not insanity
it’s sanity profound
magic cast a sudden spell
and I’m still on the ground
the earth is still beneath my feet
the sun is in the sky
this perfumed breeze is one i know
from very long ago
love returns with brighter stars
above, around, below
this gentle, soft, return of love
has melted all my snow
sixty years of Valentines
since they had their first sweet kiss
through years of war and separation
and all their married bliss
the floral card was always sent
inscribed with love all through his life
”with love to you my darling wife.”
now he’s dead she places flowers
on the piano by his photograph
i hear her say, in tender words
”here’s to you, my old love.”
In love
I used to give,
and ask for nothing
in return.
It was a selfless gift I shared
expecting no rewards.
Now I need a different love.
I’m tired of purity.
Now I stand and ask
for love,
the love that I can give.
Penelope Prichard planned a grand party
she pondered upon who best to invite
‘only the best of the gentry delight me’
she thought to herself as she pottered about
and there must be pies of impressive proportions
plumped up with partridge, pheasants and phish
(spelled p-h- plus ish)
(Penelope never learned to spell anything totally right!)
she wanted to make an impact in her own social class,
and make it quite fast,
whilst denying the fact she was lonely
plenty of party food must be procured
there must be beer, and wine,
champagne and cider
something to suit every visitors taste
apples and artichokes, custards and cakes
delicious delicacies
edibable sculptures of jelly and ice
fancies and folderols,
grapes and …. oh,
to avoid a whole alphabet,
or a preponderance of p’s,
lets just say, everything nice !
so she collected her purse
and wore her best hat
bustled about
said farewell to her cat
and without further ado
trotted off to the shops
on her way she passed Peter
who lived by the docks
i have to admit
he wasn’t well dressed
his hair was a mess
he played a good flute
but to own a good suit
was beyond his reach
to tell you quite frankly
he resembled a person
who sleeps in a ditch
suffice it to say
Peter, quite simply,
had never been rich
he had a liking for Penny
he thought she might be
the sort of woman
he hoped she might be
the sort of woman
he probably needed,
one he could love,
but their eyes never met
he knew she was older
there was nothing from her
he expected to get
but he liked her walk
he liked her hair
he just wanted to know her
to meet her and talk
to get to know how she thought
she wasn’t playing hard to get
to her he didn’t exist at all
he was zero, nada, nothing, nought
he wasn’t a man who could pass her inspection
he wasn’t the type to invite to her house
she’d think his manners were sure to be bad
she never one glanced in his direction
this made Peter feel sad
her disregard made him feel small
he thought he had nothing to offer
nothing she’d want, nothing at all
but on her way back from the shops
Penelope suffered a terrible fall
she tripped on the curb
her shopping was scattered
she couldn’t get up
everyone passing by just ignored her
one of two stared but walked straight by
peoples reaction left her shattered
she couldn’t believe that nobody cared
but Peter rushed forward
and held out his hand
pulled her up
helped her to stand
gathered her shopping
spoke to her kindly
brushed her down
she looked in his eyes
he was smiling at her
he had held her hand
she couldn’t remember
the last time
she’d been touched
she found her self
not wanting to leave very much
she looked at him then
she didn’t look at his clothes
or his hair,
or his youth
she suddenly found
she didn’t care
he carried her shopping
back to her house
she canceled the party
she made him a meal
and now Miss Penelope
Miss Quiet as a Mouse
sings in the kitchen
and dances with him
and she’s learned how to feel
and less how to grieve
and Peters her lover
and he’s not going to leave
frustration fills the air
our breath beats out our pace
no embrace is tight enough
to seal the bonds of love
glancing at your face
through tangled hair,
damp with sweat, urgent,
i look into your eyes
i hold you to my chest
i hear your moans express
a need for ever more
a need to leave this place
to fly
the planet is too small
the earth not great enough
to hold this burning love
the fervour is too strong
i hear the cosmos sigh
towards the urge of life
and children to be born
my heart is full of stars
i shower you with them all
my soul begins to fall
we call our angels in
to circle us above
suspended from their wings
passion is passing, affection is pure
love doesn’t have to be physical
i will quell this desire
but my skin is on fire
it burns to be touched
if I didn’t love you this feeling would never exist
there is no satisfaction anywhere else
there is no temptation I can’t resist
but my skin is on fire
it yearns to be touched
there are so many other things we can do
i don’t understand why i want this so much
it’s not the most important aspect of you
but my skin is on fire
it burns to be touched
turning my mind away as far as I can
filling my head with other thoughts
thoughts that cool, hoping for peace
but my skin is on fire
it longs to be touched
I never knew how true love was
Until after my father was gone
I never knew all the things he did
The care and kindness he hid
I never knew so many things
I drifted through life unaware
I thought I knew where I was going
Until my father was gone
He tested me
He challenged me
He was always there
The rock in a stormy sea
I never knew he was proud of me
Until those last years of Sunday leisure
How can you measure anything
Until it’s over and gone
with this sorrow comes the sorrow
of every loss I ever had
it’s a pool of hidden depths
full of hidden weeds, obscured
is this the same for those occasions
when I’m glad? do i recall a well of joy?
gladness seems to stand alone
no predictions and no source
I know too well the ebb and flow
joy transcends all of itself
that moment like a rising wave
that bubbles up with light and air
today I cannot turn the tide
I sleep the sleep of constant loss
I’m sick with sad complexities
and all the tears I ever cried
if love were simple, as I think,
this stream would never lead
another sorry sigh away
but would swim me back again
Long ago in Timbramil
There lived a princess fair
Upon a lofty hill she dwelt
A crown adorned her hair
Her name was Princess Tourmaline
She rarely ventured out
So little had she seen of life
She never went about
One day her fathers Squire came by
He persuaded her to go
And look about the world a bit
Her agreement was quite slow
But at last she ventured forth
Through the garden gate
She saw the flowers and fountains there
And lingered til quite late
Her little feet were growing tired
so unused to walk
so she rested with the Squire
to have a little talk
Ah! then the princess saw a snail
Beneath the scented trees
Her face became quite pale indeed
She fell upon her knees
‘What is that?’ she asked the Squire
‘that spirals round such flesh.
Do the people eat these things
And do they eat them fresh?”
The snail looked up in total shock
”Surely you aren’t FRENCH!?” he said
Curling tight within his shell
and fearing he’d be dead
”Oh, he spoke!” the Princess cried
The Squire looked away, unsure what to say
The Princess took the Snail straight home
And kissed him every day
The moral of this story is
‘A chance remark and innocence
Can make us fall for anyone
And lovers have no sense.’
The Dreaming Path 