Sailing to windward

If life
was more than a teardrop,
clinging,
briefly,
...

Ages ago,
he converted
to envy
...

When I’m gone, I will be
quiet as a mouse;
My scent upon the pillow still,
But I will have left the house.
...

What's expected of this thing called hope;
is it a medicine; is it just smoke?
Merely a screen - perhaps a misty haze,
to sweeten our journey around life's maze?
...

At birth,
a tag on the wrist
generates a list
of places one may roam.
...

I am left behind
In constant state of catching
Up flies another target
And I miss
...

In community lies strength of numbers.
to support the sick and the weak.
In community somebody hears me,
with louder voices to speak
...

The temple siren calls, deep within his walls,
stirring in his isolation, a need for expression and creation.
Reaching for notelets, grabbing at memorets and pigeon holes,
his hands slide and his memory glides,
...

The hat that fits the head that shakes
knows not the warmth that nodding makes.
The shirt worn on the back that turns
knows not the joy that friendship earns.
...

Cinnamon coloured slingbacks dangle from her fingers,
as she searches the tide line for discarded gems.
A warm steady breeze whispers somewhere offshore,
but she turns her head in fear of sandy eyes.
...

Not for you, those cold clothes
woven of worry and made ragged with regret.
You lived your final hours fearlessly, as if becalmed,
with a whole life yet to fetch that other shore.
...

We pass each other a tissue of lies
With which to dry reptilian tears

It seemed it was forever thus.
...

It was a glorious day in Padstow:
A real seaside bucket and spade day.
We strolled the little Cornish port in sunshine:
wifey and girls in search of arty bargains:
...

Oh to be your lasting rock,
to wrap you safe in tissue;
to turn back that heartless clock,
or set the quickening sand;
...

I stood, waiting,
looking through the glass darkly,
searching down that lane,
edged with dry stone walls:
...

If not for you, I’d be adrift;
My soul would find no rest.
Because of you, I live in love
and all my days are blessed.
...

An eight line verse I tried to write,
It kept me up near half the night.
Twas not so much the missing rhyme
More vexing was the metre's time.
...

We left the beach and dusty road
And scrambled up the rock strewn hill
The moon was full, as were our hearts
And all around was still
...

If you're not on board when my ferry sails,
and the spiteful wind's moaning its tirade,
I'll wait by the gate till your bright light hails.
...

Can you hear the cicadas calling
Can you, can you?

Can you see the dream filled yachts
...