Value

Inspired

Despite

Despair

In hope

In lieu

Of fear

Hopeful

Careful

Special

More tomorrow...

Write This Down Before They Shoot Me

We hide behind protocol
Concealing the value
And the impact
And the outrageousness
Of the truth.
It's not politeness or correct politic
It's fear
That stops us from
Declaring the obvious
Yes
The truth hurts
But a stronger
More resounding
YES
Says
The truth shall set you free
Free indeed.

A Christmas Story

Nick stood on the street corner in the freezing rain.  His soaked beard hung limp on his chest and his hat crept over his eyes.  He pushed it away with a sodden mitt.  He rang his bell and shouted: "Ho ho ho!" into the cutting wind.  People hurried past him, their shoulders at their ears, holding on to their hats: "Get a real job ya bum!"

"Merry Christmas" replied Nick as he rang his bell.

A well dressed lady bustled along the street, juggling shopping bags and a small girl with a candy cane.  The girl peered around at the buildings, sucking on her treat as her mother dragged her along.

"Don't dawdle Jenny!  Mummy has so much to do."  The girl took little notice as she enjoyed the sights of the big city: "Jenny!  Do hurry up child or I shall leave you here in the street."  The girl trotted along, jostled by the bags of shopping.  They stopped at Nick's corner, waiting for the traffic to clear before they could cross the busy street.  Nick rang his bell.  The girl looked up: "Happy Christmas Santa" Nick smiled at the child: "Happy Christmas Jenny." he said, giving her mother a wink.  She adjusted her grip on Jenny's tiny hand and bent close to her: "Come on Jenny  Let's go get some hot chocolate and ginger bread.  We can shop later."

"Yay!" squealed Jenny as her mother lifted her and hugged her all the way across the street.

"Ho ho ho!" cried Nick as he rang his bell

More tomorrow...

Pigeons

How do they know where’s safe to

Sleep, those pigeons?

Hugging the stonework

Bird sized shelter

I see the wind and know they won’t

Be affected

Sleeping and dreaming

Wrapped in feathers

More tomorrow...

Heart's Song

The heart leaps, behind a wall

Straining, aching for freedom

For cool fresh air

For peace

The heart shut behind a door

Jumping, longing for opening

For wide spaces

And life

The heart’s love comes near to it

Soothing, resting, relaxing

Joining the soul

With light

The heart stays in a pure place

Cleansed and softened, slow breathing

Calmed by the love

maker

more tomorrow...

Demolition Crew

Hugs break down walls, they say, so I cuddled the side of the
Clydesdale Bank.

Come Mr Tardy Man etc...

So I looked and saw thursday

and thought 'shit. It's Saturday'

and it's not like nothing happened

Oh yeah that shit happpens

day after day

week after week

to all and sundry.

Then comes the referee.

The final decision. The period . dot.

And this is where the bravery of the poet

the storyteller will force you

or him/herself to continue

and even if you don't the scriber knows

your emotions already

poured out irrespective

becoming a circus while your anger is

harboured

but

by the time we come around again

angry as you were

now you crave

an autograph.