Laden with memories
I was drinking coffee.
Thinking there is nothing
that can be done.
I thought of you.
Insisting on not
repeating the old ways.
Such great passion
in your voice.
The sound of
courage is sweet.
As if the birds
and the butterflies
are freed from
frustrated hands.

Sometimes I dwell
in a special place.
With good coffee,
a pen and thoughts
without care.
But always I am brought
back to a million affairs.
Few of the heart.
More caught in the snare
of dragons and show ponies.
Chanting their way
through silent voids.
It is a good job the tracks of
our creations, often disappear.

A song of the present
or a song of the past.
Which to choose?
I prefer the unwritten now.
Washed down with the
sweet wine of love and friendship,
from the few who see the way.
Not the stern life from before.
Just adding days together.
Forestalling the bad to come.
And hiding the light of each day.
​

Moving into the sun.
Within every step.
I see you there.
The light of a candle.
The taste of rain.
A long river running.
Along with my memories.
A fellowship of three.
Enough to see
through all this gloom.

The cat was left
outside in the cold.
The streets swirled.
The people scurried over them.
And the show ponies
spoke amongst themselves
in abundant whispers.
I think everything is ok.
As long as you look down
into the drained rivers.
With unseeing and
uncaring eyes.
Accepting all of nature’s
sunless patterns.
​As for the cat.
​It did not live to
make itself a light.
​Or touch the yellow
​waves of the ocean.
It lay down
and died that day.
​

Sometimes, it seems
as though I have eyes.
That see a way to happiness.
Without abandoning
such afflictions that
have come my way.
In the moments when the
mud comes to my eyes.
I say to myself
“Leave it be there is
nothing to be kept here”.
There and then the battle
for peace is won.
Another perfect moment.

Enough?
Yes, everyday.
No days are the same.
If you live with the
sun and moon in your eye.
Coming into the peace
with the nature of things.
Dark thoughts come and go.
A choice is made.
Sorrow, over the deepest of things.
Or, to let go of the threads that hang
around, interrupting happiness.
A choice is made.

​

Today, I passed some
of the time waiting
for a hair cut.
Writing a few words
using my phone.
It felt like another world.
Sitting, looking and reflecting.
A perfect moment,
one after the other.
I think I was born for this.
Waiting, looking, reflecting
and writing a few words.
Always writing words.

I do not think of the
bleakness of my past.
But choose to look at life
and labour boldly in the face.
Little by little,
I gave myself a- talking.
And discovered a way
towards a rainbow’s end.
It lay within myself,
and only myself.
A trudge, perhaps.
But I can always find
something to do.

Some people think that a
good day just comes along.
Hopping and skipping into your life.
Others think that life is unraveling
all the time, and you need a plan.
For me, when good news arrives
I take it as it is.
And when the old
wounds come back,
I take it as it is .
With the fragrance of words,
a friend to share a thought with
and good cup of coffee.
I can reduce the drag
of those bad days.
Avoiding the show ponies
and the crash to come.