The Right Side Of The Bed
Off Her Rocker
Whilst rocking back and forth,
An unremarkable girl had a remarkable thought,
What if she stopped swaying south to north,
And sidled away from the protective fort,
Maybe she could walk or run or dance,
Befriend the joker known as chance,
But What if she sang out of turn,
Would her reality crumble and burn,
Or would the onlookers stop and listen,
Aid her on her free thinking mission,
Either way the seed was set,
Time had come to break free from the net,
Contact her for a rocker TO LET.
..........
Makes merry a selfie collection with not an awkward,
Angle for a lens to capture,
Doused in the kind of light that we've all had once but often miss,
Reassuring us of a day to come where time presses a little lighter,
Into the nervous systems that,
Determine our scope,
Intermission arrives around 11pm when,
Sobriety runs its course and passes a liquored baton between,
Friends who may in daylight have been yet,
Unknown but are now bound intrepid pursuers in sight of the,
Night.
..........
Our northern lass.
So I said to myself I'll write a poem,
About a guy and then I'll show him,
I'll say in the poem how fine he is,
When he gives me that smile and then goes for a wizz,
He's a real gent this Dave of mine,
And I think it could work if we give it time,
We'll go out for a while then we'll make it official ,
Then he'll say to me his love's unconditional,
But what's that I see behind his eyes?
It's boredom! Experience has made me wise,
He sees big tits and a tiny skirt,
He catches up with the girl and he begins to flirt,
All too soon he's that wandering eye,
Seeing every woman but me as they pass by,
It's maturity he needs, life experience I think,
Or a slap in the face to make his eyes water and blink,
See me I'm here right in front of your face,
Wearing my best top, high heels and Ann Summers lace,
But my boobs are not massive and my waist isn't slender,
He won't remain mine when he goes on a bender,
... But then I remembered it isn't the fifties,
I've got my own car, my own bills, my own front door keys,
So stop for a second and listen,
Before you lean into my lips and try to kiss them,
I've got for you here a little poem,
About a man you should meet,
He seemed a likeable guy
Until this lass showed him.
..........
Judgement
A constant yet wavering force,
Crucial and yet corruptive,
Blinding and yet insightful,
But to me one word resonates,
YET
YET, being both the possible and the impossible,
You require the ability to embrace it and defend against it simultaneously,
Because in it hangs the balance of judgement,
The weight of silent judgement can cripple and YET if left unvoiced does it even deserve acknowledgment at all?
The strength to see through its haze and listen to its reason takes time to evolve,
But honesty to one’s self can slice through judgement like the thinnest blade, trailing clarity in its wake.
..........
Snapshots of life...
So many people, yet a shrunken world,
So many secrets to be unfurled,
So many strangers, so many friends,
So many to borrow and plenty to lend,
How many people in confined space,
Loving and losing with varying pace,
How many coffees, how many teas,
With sometimes forgotten yes thank you’s and please,
I see it all with an intrigued eye
Bringing unison and harmony with a common tie,
I offer a warm embrace to take life to the top,
Your friend and your saviour ... The coffee shop.
..........
Artistic Licence
A blank canvas is in a way complete,
But if left blank it becomes terribly boring, terribly quickly.
Most will start their painting with a base coat,
With their hands guided by the knowing curve of established artists,
And if they’re lucky they’ll get a good strong emulsion suitable for all weathers.
Then comes the point when they alone are solely entrusted with the brush,
Some are tentative, growing slowly in confidence into a potential later bloom.
Others are born wild and impulse pushes them to make heady technicolour decisions,
With occasional strokes of genius, merrily embellished though they are in the mistakes of the 1st 2nd & 3rdattempts.
Some canvases will collect only a few smudges or fearful flecks easy to dismiss,
And I guess these are the saddest sight,
All the outlines were drawn but the blueprints left unimagined,
Through an ignorance to embrace or just plain old lack of opportunity,
But for those whose fortunes provided them with something less than the strongest base coat,
Their hope lies in their tenacity.
Their deeply layered drive for something new, something better, something significant,
The chance to take ownership of their initial vulnerable design and turn it into a masterpiece.
..........
Bang goes his shot of infinite power,
Obliterating all that is drab, intolerant, sour,
Wasting no time he calls out the kooks and pretty things,
Inspiring our senses to us he brings
Energy to live then relive. In our freedom he sings.
..........
The Train Ride
I'm going somewhere,
Somewhere very nice,
But for the next 3 hours I've not a care,
I won't even stew over the ticket price,
Because time as I know it has ended,
I am but scenery and thought,
My imagination has been extended,
Even the factories I pass seem a beauty of sort,
I curl into my red carpeted seat,
And tuck into my bread roll and tuna,
Watching field after field all patchwork and neat,
I'm glad not to be arriving any sooner,
For this a moment to soften and ponder,
See and believe,
Every image is free to wonder,
Leaving the mind open to the naive,
To soon the signal alerts me to my nearing station,
The meandering time realigns again,
I must stow away the world of my own creation,
But the knowledge of it will always remain,
To be reignited at the passing of a train.