Beautiful

She is
in particular,
that one thing,
the thing,
thingymagummy,
what-is-it-called,
the word on the tip of my
diving board--
ahh, tongue--
thing,
on the waiting list
of vocabulary--
waiting for she,
on the tip of toes,
in the bask of sunlight,
in the beautiful mind.

04 August 2012

Sitting in my new flat, enjoying the 10p coin of  lovely English weather. Someone keeps flipping the coin and they can't decide whether they want heads or tails. Will the sun stay or will the rain wash our troubles away? Or will it just get us soaked? Find out next time on Have I Got The Weather For You!

A poem to wash away the wait.

The paper boat

took to the grey seas

on a voyage to discover

its purpose in life.

All it discovered,

much to its despair

was a drain

to the dark pits 

of bohemian Hell.

Clouds

I watched the sun go down with my eyes closed
and the sun rise: I can't see anything but
what are you
where
the clouds are white fluffy things
(that sounds austere)