Under the metal.
storm grate –
the water gently flows; through
the old brick channels

I stand, listening,
reminding myself of
walks long ago, of
waves breaking on the
seaside sands.

Looking up, I notice the
grey,
concrete,
monolithic buildings,
and I realise how
far away
my memories are.

The desperate mind
Alone,
cold,
watching
The others following
cruelty

Time to hide
from
our fear
of joy’s
continuation

I ran to keep up
But the vision has gone.
A bleeding heart with
no farewell

Amended 1 May 2005

snow?

In the upstairs room of the
battered housing, the
man stands, looking towards the
small municiple yard.

A small bricked garden, shared
with his neighbours, leads up to an
ancient crumbling wall, behind which
there is another house.

The man looks, side to side, back and
forth, yet sees nothing to change this
pattern. He wonders if the others are
also looking out?

a twist of the knife
gives the pain
once more
to know existence

Amended 10 January 2002

Mantlepiece…

Tick ~

Tick ~

Tick ~

There is no Tock.

(Stupid clock.)

and so i hop-
slippery floor, isn’t it.

too bright.

glistening.

i think i might fall over.

hurrah for the pastry makers!