Life Time

 ‘Far away’ is where I go

in my furthest dream

and ‘far away’ is where I’ve been

- further than I’ll know.

Pop Off

A soap bubble sits

cradled in his hands

for a little time

until the clock chimes

look - the game is up

when a finger slips

and the video game

in slow-mo stops:

the soap bubble pops.

Ownership

In my possession

are two lungs

- quite valuable, however

they inflate.

And, in deflation,

they let an estuary

of breath into an ocean

of sighs and mouthing voice,

human tongue

- myriad.

I'm leaving the Club

while a gifted moon,

doing her job, happens

like clockwork in a dark-blue sky.

I remember sperm and egg

- that we (luminous beings) - occur -

and then enter a given old name.

Not our Truth – no - that’s a frying pan flaring

suddenly – forging up and out

one day - when we remember to recall,

beyond a social club, our One Real Name.

To Sun Seekers;

it’s rarely a scorcher

in Yorkshire.

Brown or White

- darker, or lighter chocolate?

No politician will mind!

Mobs and gangs will not riot

- chocolate tastes of a sweeter dream!

Wars have been fought over salt

but not for Magnum or Twix.

Celebrate now – you won’t die,

marginally lower your body heat:

when chocolate melts, no one cries.

To Innesfree

When Yeats suggested go

to one Lake Isle

in wind or snow and rain or peace or hail

- and plant nine bean-rows;

he hinted that to hear,

listen – become –

is the real game we play, or else be dumb

to a swelling of hearts and the sea.