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The Next Wave

I missed the first wave,
Distracted by the gentle swell;
Drifting like sleep that forgets to wake,
And is buffeted back to cold awareness
By an uninvited chill.

Overturned, the ocean
Does not wait, with a tidal need
To reach the far shore.
I gape for breath
And haul aboard again.

Drenched, but jolted into action,
The next wave is known to me;
My sail does not falter.
In it is a tall sky to steer by,
And a distant homecoming.


Pollen Ponderings

Flowers dancing in the breeze

Are you bothered by the bees

Collecting nectar for the honey?

Or don’t you care because it’s sunny?

Wouldn’t it be weird if either

Flowers or bees caught hayfever!

Then the reason for the breezing

Would be because of all the sneezing!

Midas and Mucus

If all the world were made from nought but silver, bronze and gold

I’d have nothing to blow my nose on If I ever caught a cold!mucus-joe

Childish Thoughts

When I was only very small

I thought the Earth was a rubber ball,

Bouncing around in the Universe,

Which made the Martians stamp and curse;

Their world (I thought) was full of rocks

That smell quite badly of mouldy socks!


But now that I am fully grown

I know that Mars smells of Cologne,

And the Earth is not a rubber ball,

But rather a giant swimming pool.

How foolish childish thoughts may seem

When the truth, at last, is seen!



A hippopotamus I knew

Would often bathe in Irish Stew,

And said that when it came to mud

He didn’t know how others could.

A stew when bathed in for a time

Is good enough on which to dine,

And those who call such things a farce

Must surely lack, somewhat, in class!


Everthing seems long to me
(Train-carriage bound)
Spears and runways
That threaten to wound
Or sweep me away to multiple horizons
Observers in the wake
Look on in a diesel daze
As we growl by
Ploughs and rivers
That confuse me as I underestimate them
For my carriage-bound companions
Shrink-wrapped into place
Only the journey is real
A democracy of selves
Lost in screens and destinations

To the Tomb

To the tomb
Indistinct and vague
A whisper, drawn almost, touches
A tangle-trail of syllables
Slurred; not clearly understood

And this is how you know?
A touch that passes through
Or footsteps traced in dust?
The burial undoing me
Unravels what I know


Inevitable destiny

Might be any one of a thousand

Strands we follow.


How often they must cross,

Or tangle, as along them, we pursue

Our own ends.


Conceivably each

Might have taken another’s role,

Never aware that


Perhaps as we collide,

Unwittingly we become one another,

Like compounds,


On our tangents some

May even adopt a new awareness,

Call it empathy.

Clatter-jangle cutting skin,

Noise, like violence, reaches in.

Something is taken, torn and gone,

Chatter blind to any wrong.

Cold disconsolate flesh is numb,

Cacophony grinds its ruthless thumb

Into the wound, no time to heal;

Silence stolen, crushed to meal.

Feral light denies my only hope

My one belief,

You knock and so it falls,

And in the dust of its collapse

My windless mind is clouded,

No breath compels a single thought.

Now I must build a stronger hope

To stand against denial’s hand,

And blow upon my mind’s uneasy sleep,

Awaking thoughts to reconstruct belief.