My Friend

You're there.

              I'm here.

You're shining brightly -

                                             permeating my vision;

                                                                                  I like it.

                                             A breeze lifts your hair -

                                                                                  I laugh.

You laugh.

                                             We smile and we raise a glass - ching!

 

                                                                                  I echo an idea you had,

you remind me why I loved it - travel.

                                             An inspiration to me.

                                                                                        

                                 I help you consider:

                                             inquiries, issues, ideas...

                                             Like a wave knocking against your boat.

But there are no clouds in your sky -

                                             the seas calm.

                                             We smile and drop the sails.

 

You're always there.

                                                                                  I'm always here.

You flood me with memories

                                                                                  and I float on the surface;

                                             we lie on our backs on our ocean.

                                                       I had forgotten, but do not forget.

Like drops of rain, 

they

come

back

to

me.

You're creating waves

                                              and they crash around us.

                                              We like this for a while.

 

Then, you're still and you gaze upwards.

                                   I gaze upwards while

                                               we enjoy this silence

                                               under a serene sky

                                               looking out to the universe

                                               from where we are now.

 

                                               You're there. I'm here.



Promise

I can't promise the world.

In fact,

I can't promise much.

 

I wonder what truths we can find in life,

in a place littered with heart ache

and plagued by greed and suffering.

 

I can promise thoughts, questions, ideas -

interest, engagement, enthusiasm;

a frustrating, strong, adventurous friend.

 

In me you'll find a place to reflect,

release,

re-energise.



Sunrise Station

Avoiding the shadows, the haunters of night,
and gravitating towards the light,
I am saved.

A rumbling tsunami of energy
rattles, creaks, rolls to a halt
at the opposite platform.

Moving vestibules to a journey's end;
life lived, momentarily, in a tubular world.

For a moment
the caw of the birds remind you:
'Enjoy this trice,
the fresh air,
this place in time.
Waiting.'

An endless stopover
ends too soon.

Rattling, creaking and rolling
it comes to a halt
at this platform.

A sudden rush. Panic.
Hearts beating fast.

You walk towards the shadows
to live in a tubular world, for a while.

Slumber

Slumber

a slumberer

and tumbler

                              of dreams

 

Wonder

A wonderer

I wander

                                               through these dreams

 

Remember

that December

Forever

                                              - my breath is steady

 

The slumberer,

The grumbler

And bumbler...

 

I dream we were younger

drinking from tumblers

in the garden at mum's - and her

memory sings on in my slumber.

 

Condolence

Cards scatter across this black lake:
they arrive, sealed with love,
and are shuffled in those early morning reviews;
reviving moments that spring to mind.
They are higgledy-piggledy messages of warmth.




Like sentries they guard
this cold, black marble headstone,
settled like jutting memorials.
A reminder of life and death.



Memories pass over our eyes, scudding along, 
like reflected clouds over this black lake.
But they have stilled -
strong, almost solid, hanging reminders -
gaining power as they accumulate.
 
Yet they are fragile, these clouding memories;
unable to protect against fire or water, nor anguish or hope,
neither do they hold against tears that drop
onto this black lake.





For tears are, and will be, shed over these cloudy cards.