Senses #2

The smell of your perfume lingers in my head, from when you get up to when you are dead.
The smell of cropped grass tells me its spring at last, green lush grass is so vast.
The smell of bacon sizzling in the pan, waiting to be devoured by a very hungry man.
The smell of the fire, wood burning pyre, sometimes, an odd tyre.

The smell of your musk as I explore your hollows, deep in you a choose to wallow.
The smell of your coat as you get ready for work, sends my senses berserk.
The smell of fruit in a bowl wanting me to devour it whole.

The smell of freshness and regeneration after the storm, ready for the rest of the day to get warm.
The smell of life, not trouble and strife, leave troubles behind and appreciate what’s around.
The smells around you will astound.

Senses #1

I see flowers starting to bloom lifting their heads from the winter gloom.
I see the river running so free, life force of nature for you and me.
I see children running and playing with glee, from morning to night then in for their tea.

I see lovers on a park bench, kissing and cuddling, their hands in a clench, gazing into each other’s eyes, pure thoughts and sometimes lies.
I hear a dog bark from a far, and the backfire of a car.
I smell the diesel and fresh cut grass, as I walk along the path.
I close my eyes and see nothing but dark, nothing to love not even a spark.

Open my eyes and mind to see what has changed, all the colours of life are back here again.


Words tell a million stories, some believable and some absurd, scaring you to the core with just one well-placed word. Words can define you or undermine you, be true or false. Words can kill you and hurt you inside as they punish you and deride, kicking you in the side, beating over you like a tide giving you nowhere to hide.

Words can sooth and bath you in glory, make you lose yourself in a good story. Words can tell you, you are loved, fitting like your favorite glove, keeping you warm and happy, only nice things do you see. Words cause wars, ripping apart worlds by scores, words that are full of hate, designed to berate. Words of religion tell of what went before but lay others of god raw, say no more.

Words are funny making you laugh, like a hyena or even a giraffe, they make you laugh out loud, or chuckle back in side, where your happiness and humour safely reside. Words can rhyme although if they don’t it’s not a crime, words can make something chime. Words can give introductions but can also cause destruction and abduction. Words can describe pungent scents and flowers, words can make you hungry and your mouth savor.

Use words wisely and for good as you know you really should. Don’t be miserly, write plenty, let your pen work until your mind is empty.


Black safety surfaces highlight the bright colours of the playground with children all around, they climb and run and jump, on metal frames and trains. they imagine they are climbing a mountain to rescue fair maids and gallop away.

Driving a train passenger laden picking up knights and maidens. A large swing hangs like a disc, carries several children on the journey they wish. Slides and roundabouts all to wear the kids out. then comes the ice cream, it cools them down in the mid-day heat, a real treat, strawberry sauce real sweet. Back to their play and imagination all day, dancing and singing and rocking in the sun’s rays. Play in a group or just on their own, there is plenty to do until it’s time to go home.


Balloon Flight

Bright coloured silk laid out on the ground basket tethered all around, the size of it astounds. The fan fires up to open the envelope, opening it up like a periscope. Air shivers down the silk rippling waves in coloured silk. Then comes the roar and hiss of the flame, heating the air from the burner mounted on a frame, sometimes fierce and sometimes tame. The heat from the air makes the silk flare and people stare as the balloon takes shape.

Struggling to stand and reach for the sky the canopy comes back to lie, as the pilot gives it another try. The balloon is soon erected, it drops its tethers and heads for the sky. Waving at crowds as the balloon heads for the clouds. The people below look in awe, as the balloon starts to saw. Up in the sky the current takes it high, until it is difficult to spy.

Gliding over towns and parks up high with swifts and larks, firing the burner to keep it high, now just a dot in the sky. Out over feels of cows and sheep, boats on water not so deep. Wind is dying it starts its descent, to land in a space without a dent. Slowly sinking down to earth along a field, we start to surf, down with a bump, and a scrape and a drag, it will soon be time to put it back in the bag.

The balloon comes to rest in a local field, gas turned off to bring it to heal. Then comes the trailer and ground crew, where it would land they never knew. They start to work folding the silk, all the air extracted up to the hilt, rolling it into a ball, into the bag it’s heavy to hall. Onto the trailer it takes them all, packing it tight basket and all. Then into the cab the crew all file, ready to return this valuable pile that makes people smile making it all worth while.


The Fair

Flashing lights and music pumping in the night, it’s an unmistakable sight, the fun fair at night. Candy floss and toffee apples, sweets and treats of all kinds sit on the carts waiting to warm fair dwellers hearts. Helter-skelter, rubber slide, climb up the side then glide down with good grace, picking up a respectable pace.

 Bumper cars flash around the track, young man jumping on the back, from car to car he goes, spinning the wheels to young girls’ squeals. Waltzers spinning around and around up on a wave and straight back down, G force pulling your face out of place as the car picks up a pace, fairground staff spinning you all over the place. The rifle range with tin cans stacked, after your turn they are still intact, hook a duck so easy to do, guaranteed a prize no matter how you do.

 Burgers and chips, savory dips and cans of pop to wash on top, children’s eyes light up at the sight, day or night any time is right for the fair.


Communication Breakdown

I try to communicate with you but you just get in a rage, doesn’t matter if I try to speak or put it on a page. I talk a lot but no one ever hears, my voice only echoes back through my ears. I could shout from a mountain top, it would not leave a blot, would it really bother you? cos you don’t give a jot.

My voice echoes inside this empty vessel trying to make you hear but you may as well not be here, my voice travels nowhere near. All I want is for you to hear, to speak without fear, without ridicule and for you not to sneer. So, when the words come out all the same it’s because I’ve said them over again.

Your attention I must gain this saga is becoming in vain, to say what I want to say, nothing inside my soul but anger and dismay. My thoughts are only decay, communication is such a tough game to play, its driving me insane again and again, overloading my brain.



When doubt creeps in to steal the show, you feel that you really don’t know. When it stops you from moving on, sets your mind to all or none from self-belief to disbelief, the distance is only brief. The unknown thief, falls like a leaf, no motive or brief.

Wrong decisions seem harder than procrastination, but still you don’t get to your destination. Setback and derailment, other people you come to resent, pride and confidence takes more than a dent. Want to give up as you are spent but in side you don’t relent. Tough it out sulk and pout., hoping more words will fall out.

Maximum effort little return, I carry on in discern. Mulling over my decisions brain and heart in collision, shooting each other with derision. Each one wants to give up the mission. Some will say it’s weak, or that I am just meek. Reassurance and truth is all I seek. To know that truly my work is great and people really do appreciate, not feeling bad and alienate. Wish I could believe myself when I wake in the morning and say I’m great.


Deserted Street

Men and boys say good bye all know the reason why. Called up to serve in a war they don’t deserve on the front line, not reserves. Whole Streets fighting together as a regiment. Swathes of streets empty of men who will never return. Desolate streets no dads to greet, no sons to hug mums, just dear Johns, to all the friends you meet.

Workers side by side, they all came for the same ride, work as a team one unbreakable seam, and go down with a scream. Waste of men and boys who will never know life, but briefly met strife. No guns fired or fixed Bayonet charge, the enemy is still at large. Longing for home, their bed and clean sheets, seeing their families again and walking down those deserted streets.

In their heads, their family implanted safe return not taken for granted. Over the top their turn to drop, an entire street, downed by men from an unpronounceable town. Leaving heart ache in a deserted English Street. Mothers cry, children wonder why, when the officer drops by house after house on the same Street, tears and sadness at each one they meet, finally leaving the deserted Street.

Magic Weaver

Lost in your shadow, your billowing love, free as a bird, not pure as a dove. Come find me tonight, in the dim candle light, open your mind and dictate my plight. Make me tingle and writhe in pleasure, let me feel your warmth and caress in good measure. Run your fingers through my hair, down my body and anywhere you dare. Let passion flare, you won’t scare.

Tempt me with your fruit, make my passage to it an easy route. Caress my body with your lips, work your magic with your hips, make me scream in your magic dreams. Love me until I am coming apart at the seams, until I can take no more, but pleasure screams. When you think my body has had enough, come find me again a little rough.

Send me to heaven, open the gate, don’t make me anticipate. Lay with me in the afterglow, my body twitching, sending a signal of contentment so you know, you have been responsible for setting me alight and making me feel high as a kite. I want to weave magic with you every night.