In a Texas park

Look at those leaves
All dressed in the
Youth of spring,
And the wind
Cold and crisp
And scented with
The dew of the Sugarberry.
Live Oaks boasting
Their new greenage
and songbirds gathering
to sing their
Whistling crescendos.

Date

A night like any other.

Waiting for your call,

At the café on lonely street.

Table for two -

- Coffee for one.

The phone is always

Noisy when it doesn’t ring.

Bottom line

“The bottom line”

She said,

“Is that I love you,

So put that in your pipe

And smoke it,”

Her singing voice

Capturing my heart.

Lost in her

Thumping exuberance,

I decide I am going

To blow long, happy,

Fantastic smoke rings

With that knowledge.

Smoke rings

Within smoke rings,

Tailored rings

Of the finest pipe smoke.

Damn! I don’t even

Have a pipe.

The trees

The winter trees
Are naked again,
Exposing their limbs
And trunks
For the swooning
Jasmine.
Their verdant wardrobe
Awaits in spring.

Juffair

The Wagtails gathered before sunset,
Dancing their olive steps
Around treetops,
And chatting like teenagers
At an auditorium.

The sky, dreaming
Of dusk at its sapphire edge
Played with the palm trees
That spread-eagled
Lazily In shadows,

Whilst I followed a
Sandy road
Towards the sea,
Amongst the swirling dust
Of a saffron breeze;

A silent contemplation
Over ruby red wine
And arterial bursts
Of magnificent memories.

Waiting

Look at the
Long grass
As it bends before the wind;
Bowing faithfully.

And listen to the brook
As it babbles
Through the spruce and pine,

Those hazy butterflies
Dressed in delicate
Flying jackets -
 - Watch as they
Swoon fleetingly
Around the flowers.

I wait beneath the bows
Of a chestnut tree
Where songbirds
Whistle like window cleaners -

- Longing for you
Until the moon rises,
Before skipping away
With my thoughts of tomorrow -

- Chasing me,
The wind shrouds me
In darkness.

Arbor vitae

I think I should have

Been born a tree -

- Maybe a silvered birch

With feather veined

Leaves -

- I could greet

My tall reflections

That swim saintly inside

The nearby streams -

- Or a lofty, leafy oak,

Crying slow orange tears in autumn

And being a shoulder

For solemn lonely birds

To cry on -

- It has been said

That I always had my head in the clouds.

TGI Friday

In a restaurant

Elvis hung on a wall

Slightly crooked –

-nostalgic sepia,

Trademark pompadour.

His far away gaze

Staring blankly

Out at nowhere,

Through a window

At the drabness beyond.

In the background

“Always on my mind”,

Plays quietly behind the scenes -

- while a midday sun

Trickles colour into Elvis.

I leave after coffee

And take a walk

Down lonely street,

Where I will search for

Elvis in heartbreak hotel -

- I need to tell him

How much I miss him. 

Words

I absentmindedly

Pressed delete

And lost forever

The words and letters

That filled my poem

With verbosity and

Colour.

I could hear

Them articulating

All the vowels under the sun

From the wordless void

Of their new consonant.

Morons

I want to sleep,

But I can’t

While reflecting

On a day working

With morons.

I count hedge

Jumping sheep,

But it turns

Into one of those

Fairground shooting games.

I shoot morons

And then I sleep

And I dream

Of sheep

Chasing me,

Shouting, “Why have you forsaken us?”

Passenger train

Tall oak trees

Stood on an embankment

Just north of nowhere,

Rustling their summer greens

Against a rusty

English sky

And watching

An old blue Deltic

As it chugged along

An old branch line.

Greeted merrily

By overgrown flowers

And nettles that encroached

Its track,

It whistled longingly

Into the evening air,

Before disappearing

Into long forgotten memories of yesterday

King of the hill

A sun glowing

With optimism

Sits behind a hill

That has dressed

For visitors.

Crenellated castles

Have formed on flowers

All pearly white,

While butterflies

Watch sparrows in

The towers of the Carob trees;

And scattered leaves

All crunchy fodder

Sweep past thorns,

Crowned and regal.

Whistling to jasmine

The east wind

Blows in a

New perspective.

The sunflower

The sunflower

Faced west

Towards the sunset

And listened to the wind

As it arrived with

The scent

Of lavender;

Which rolled into town

Like lumbering rolling stock.

Sea

Look at the sea

And its love

For the beach.

Crisp green kisses,

Enamoured loops

Of water gushing towards

The sand.

Remembered

The silence

Of the soldiers

Lost during war

Was so loud

That it caused

Heads to bow

And tears to stream

When remembering

The noise they

Use to make.

Storm

The sky is a battleground.

Overrun with an Armada

Of black clouds,

Sailing heavy

With the water of war.

Look at those flashes,

And listen to the rattle of their sabres.

The wisdom of trees

“Underneath it all

I am just like you”,

Said the tree

To the firewood.