To be young is less
than admirable to the
grumpy old cretins
The Light
The village gathered around
to see the light on the hill.
Saturated in whiskey and humour,
three brave souls staggered towards the light.
Some looked horrified, others confused, and
one took a nap.
The first to arrive cried, “It’s bloody Steve with a torch up his arse!”
Muse
Other people have a great beauty to adore or a muse of flesh and blood.
Yet when she sits and writes poetry, such inspiration does not come from the beauty of the flesh.
Instead, she sits with pots and pans, touching, rubbing and feeling them.
The kitchen is her muse.
Cool Against the Skin
A faint whisper
from a long summer.
A dark blanket
from a cold winter.
By the sea,
By the hills,
By both, we
feel cool
against
the skin.
The Dead
You woke from a nightmare and told me about the dead people terrorising you.
I smiled and said, “Dear niece, the ash of a billion people covers the land. We touch the remains of the dead daily. My love, the dead cannot hurt you; leave that to the living.”
Winter to Spring
Encased within winter,
between the green hills
and
the blanket grey sky
you hear a faint whisper.
You hear a whisper
from spring,
a spring
cool
against
the skin.
A Sweet Love
He walks constrained by a constant diet.
Every walk past the bakery caused him to whelve his love for carrot cake, doughnuts, and vanilla slices.
All whelved out on a Saturday morning, he purchases all three and sits at home looking at them lovingly.
A Quibble
Quibble with a fish
Such language in the bubbles
Hiding in the depths
Tired
in a sea of tired
dropping kitchen utensils
awake and asleep
Haiku: Brace
Mustering courage,
you brace for the blossoming
hayfever sneezing.
C & K 