Hidden in the shadows he knows where she is
He borrowed her time, just for a while
It wasn’t real – it wasn’t love
Obsessive and possessed mental assault
Erotomania and fixation
Stalking is for the young; isn’t it?
When will the gifts stop?
She must pity this perpetual nuisance and pray he finds solace in his menial life
Has divorce and separation created this threat to the lonely and delusional?
She can empathise, but, cannot condone this behaviour
Where, when, does it end? Is there no pride?
Or, should we pity these mortals who have no love or friendship?
SWEET WIDE EYES, JUST LIKE JESS
WILD AND FREE, SHE BEARS THE SCARS OF AN EGYPTIAN CURSE
RED SPINE, BROUGHT ON BY YEARS OF CARRYING A HEAVY LOAD
BLACK SPOTS IN ABUNDANCE – THE DEVILS PUNISHMENT
ANTENNAS THAT SENSE HER ISOLATION AND BEWILDERMENT
HER ATTRACTION TO THE ENEMY – SHE CANNOT ESCAPE
SHE SITS ON A LEAF, HOPING…
Misunderstood by her peers at times – they don’t know her like I do
She’s like a newborn baby – as pure as gold
A sapling waiting to burst
A Philanthropist in the making – Socrates blind hope, pouring of her thoughts freely
Infectious smile and a rainbow of pretty colours
A breath of fresh air – unaffected, and yet, sometimes wild
Her antics are funny and a bit wacky
A mass of human goodness who would sacrifice her heart for the underdog
Each brave soldier laid to rest in the Somme – a terrible war. She stood at their graves and wept.
Her understanding of pain, and others’ sorrow and misfortune, is rare in one so young
Her expression of love is abundant, a scattering of bright stars from the abyss
Maybe she’s a carnation of a Celestial Soul, not from now, from then
Too knowing for a child
Her talents are endless, high jump, low jump, this and that
With a voice like an Angel and yet, she’s humble and full of self-doubt
Her selfless love is our salvation
We are blessed to have her in our lives
I cannot stand at your grave and weep
The priest praying and committing your decaying corpse into the earth
I didn’t know you that well, how could I, when you were distant and cold
Your doting mother adored you, even though your cruel and demented mind hurt her
No bond between us even though we were from the same mould
Maybe your madness was not your fault and I was too closed to understand
I empathise with your family at their loss, but, I cannot grieve for you
I can only pray for your soul to be nourished, made whole, and pure
As it was before the journey into your Mother’s womb…
Dying Daffodils danced a slow dance in the graveyard today
I observed the changing of seasons, the yellow and white lovers’ swayed as their
energy began to fade. Making way for the next cycle of summer blooms
The walk through the village burial ground was quiet and calm
The headstones stood like temples – epitaphs stating their place on earth
The church door was open; unlikely in these times of lead thieves
Smell of must and old bones – no priest in sight
I sat and contemplated my day, my week, my life
Fragments of the past consumed my thoughts
The prodigal son – the one love; the only love
I stumbled to a pew in god’s house. I couldn’t see him. Was he hiding from all the sinners?
Hands clasped I offered myself in prayer.
He wasn’t home…
I have no clothes!
I took them down the road
There was check and stripes
And lots of old tripe
Bundled them up in a brown paper bag
Gave them to the lady who was a bit of an old hag
She took them willingly and said, ‘thank you dear.’
Come back soon, these old clothes will give a little cheer
But, this time dear be careful what you say
I maybe an old hag and haven’t had to pay
But, I’m not deaf dear and can hear everything you say!
Ghostly figure floats through the back streets of Victorian London
Is it a SHE, a HE, or a THING?
Where is this apparition going in the dense fog; I wonder?
It’s the black of night – no birdsong – no sunrise
Tall grey buildings standing proud, our ancient history evident
The Apex is shrouded in liquid water droplets, cut-off like a body in half
Cold and eerie; quite eerie
This mythical creature is neither good nor evil
Or, is it human?
A shadow falls across its borrowed face
Smokeless, but scorching fire from its lips
I am a voyeur watching the Djinni from my prison
Modern London in the 21st century still bears the scars of nature’s ice crystals