Self portrait

There once was a 

Boy who moonlighted

As a steam train

Along forgotten borstal

Branch lines -

 - Dreams packed

In a satchel with banana sandwiches

And a smile that

Belonged on a Spanish beach.

Life

The café on lonely street

Sells fresh cups

Of inward despair,

So I drank two of these

Before walking a mile

In someone else’s shoes,

But as they didn’t fit

I just resigned myself

To advising people on life

With my vast inexperience.

Winter rain

The sky is wearing a big

Grey beard today,

The same it wore yesterday

And the day before too.

Furrowing its brow

In a miasma of sadness,

It sheds cold tears

Of discarded dreams.

Sunbathers

The trees on the edge of the field

Watch like an audience,

As the sparrows

Gather and chat incessantly

About the bluebells,

Which have craftily

Picked the best spot

For the lunchtime sun.

Age

The day is so grey

It seems old,

Too old before its time,

For it is only morning;

Or is it only mourning.

Memory

In a dream I remembered her;

Face framed in sunset,

Eyes like shimmering jewels

Swimming up from the depths

Of restless sleep.

Her name was on the tip

Of my tongue until morning;

Remembered: I called her name in earnest,

To an empty room.

Got dressed, went to work,

Her face already fading

Beneath the sheets. 

Bird watching

I sat for hours

At a window mired in January

Rain smudges,

And dreamt silently of you,

Somewhere over a hill

Where you name quietly whispered

Is stolen by angry gales –

- Casual herons peered

Between the rain smudged window,

Laughing at humanities loneliness;

For I had been sad since you left.

Artist

She lay there

Amongst the shades

Of a sunset,

Playing with the knots

In her hair;

In artistic fluency

The shadows

Drew a smile,

So large

That the moon

Was even jealous

About the eclipse she caused

On my swooning heart.