Spring desire tugs.

The hearts unwanted guest.

Like a stuck tune.

Summer day,

Leaf tugs at the water.

Up and down.

Heart

The heart learns at its own pace

Telling it means nothing

It can only feel

It cannot hear arguments

Or see maps

Taste sweetness

Only when the sun or moon moves it

Will it tell you

My Grandpa said to me

Death is a constant companion

But mostly it tiptoes

Pulling funny faces behind the backs of others

And gyrates to unheard music

It plays games

Being aware of how well he can play

Having felt his victories

I will not begrudge his final one

Two more!

Moments before awareness

The prize light shows the way through twisting stairs to certain falls

To time lost rivers and darkness boards

So I step an inch a fathom a gram

Uncertain treads on an unsure land

My thoughts betray me with guidance

I await

Time itself must lose patience with me

I awake from sleep

All is fixed

Nothing moves unless you count my moods

Trees are beginning to bud

Soon the leaves of plenty will flood

Leaving us with tall rivers that gleam

Lines of order evergreen

It means

A sharp intake of breath

Pausing on the steps

Rushing for the train

Panic at something forgotten

Waiting until 3am sleepless

A warm touch

Missing a beat

Craning your neck to look

Spring in the step

A place in the past

Happiness in the now

The smell of sweat

Your delight at my face

Putting the key into the lock to fast

Feet on my back

Knocked these two out today while on the train.

Distractions

Distractions abound, at home and work

When I want to do anything of worth

When cooking, or cleaning, driving, and reading

Always extracting, and detracting, from consecutive thought

Only doing the most trivial things

Is when it refuses to cling

Never exacting its price

When I start thinking of something worth dreaming, I lose all practical advice

It’s so demeaning, when in meetings; I have to ask for things twice

And here I am writing about the distractions inviting, except that which gives me my pay

I was supposed to be grafting, instead I am just crafting, Useless things to say.

Bird at window

Up down, up down, pause then wiggle the bird outside twitches and fiddles

Movement changes from smooth to jerky, it waits on the rail. Inside it’s a Thursday

My work and tasks of Sisyphus are laid down and I watch the uncertain tail twitching

Its life as precarious as the fall to the tarmac below

Is it a Wagtail? I cannot say, not a twitcher and none here today

But its uncertainty is in synchronicity with my labour

I look down at my work before resuming my worth

A valuer says “will it fall if pushed?” 

No. It will flap for all its worth.

Some more poems. I will try to do pairs if possible so as to balance things out.
And in some cases to ensure that people will not think I am dwelling on something morbid.


This one was written after watching my friend and his kids play, children are so unreserved while adults with duty on their minds can never let go.

Droplet

The water plays with the children

Droplets refracting the laughter

And joy of no duties.

I played like that once

Felt only the sound on my skin

But my drops have fallen to the grass

I am cutting

Golden moments melt in the waters

All adults desire the days of delinquency

That resides in the droplets.

Got rid of the earlier poem, I thought it a bit grim!

Future

Once we looked to the future

Then somebody said the future is now

Thanks

What do we look forward to now?

Flying cars were born defunct

Bases on the moon a publicity stunt

But there are things to buy

Consumerism is the way we fly

Who will pontificate on tomorrows state

When even the future arrives too late

Getting everything together is hard I write every day but it does not flow well. And of course doubts always set in, but practise makes perfect.

Duck swims,
Circles of movement,
and quacking

Leaves vibrate,
I enjoy the product.
The work of spring industry.


Panic,

I feel it rising up the panic.
Starts in my chest and radiates out.

It is not quick it is slow.
The steady pressure of time.

Must do this must do that,
Have left this too long.

A sharp spike of awareness,
more alive but just the one path.

Poetry 2

A few more Haiku today, getting into writing poetry again is difficult. For it to work the hand, heart, and mind must all synchronise.

Gull over water.
Dips his wings,
Turns away south.

In the dulling rain,
A thousand stabbing needles,
of in-consequence.

This came to me when reading a book about propaganda.

Politicians and words

The politician Breezes, our country wheezes.
Change we can believe in.

You kiss the babies, and young ladies.
The real alternative.

You turn , you duck, you avoid the muck.
Are you thinking what were thinking?

You curse those feckless banks, while helping them close ranks.
The buck stops here.

Support a cause, you're having fun, I really do mean this one.
Think globally, act locally.

He wages wars, which come to our doors.
No war but class war.

At the husting, to support your lusting.
Never been had so good.