A gentle flow insidewishes me to let go.
An insolent pride
with speeches of woe
would starve off my embers
and trample my children ~
with answerphone distemper
cramp my easy entrance.
The doorbell in my face
tunes the channel to soul growth
and the next call I make
in the seething furrow
finds a cure for chaos
in emotional mystery;
the sense of new Eros
assists the distillery.
***
Trooping the colour,
this time seeing nothing.
I can’t explain, or else
wander off again.
The miracle of things growing:
I’m scared of what comes next.
It must be too easy,
like necklaces and necks.
– People should be themselves
and not a bittersweet joke.
– If you grow up on a bogus journey
then cross it off the list.
– Don’t fight the lines of new relief
or you’ll fall fast asleep.
– As time diminishes
challenge becomes paramount.
– Lubricate a growing measure
to communicate a knowing pleasure.