My Spectral Lover



 I saw her as a spectre of a girl I’d never met
 
 Cast away forever in a time she did forget
 
 With midnight in her tears and a cloak of hidden dreams
 
 She rose up in the moonlight, the silence was her screams
 
 Her beauty was unrivalled though of course of ghostly hue
 
 But to me she still looked lovely, an ever deadly view
 
 So, I stepped into the shadow of that rather dreadful moon
 
 But chilled I did recoil though I think she thought my swoon
 
 And just for a faint second, as the old church did strike one
 
 I think she knew I loved her, but at that she was then gone
 
 

Booooo! Laundry Day

(For all those who hate laundry day.)
 
 I’ve put it off,
 I really have,
 But clothes now look
 So very drab;
 The blacks now grey,
 The blues washed out,
 No other choice,
 No longer doubt.
 I’ve turned them once
 And turned them twice,
 And if I could,
 I’d turn them thrice.
 But option-less,
 I’ll do the task,
 The washer on,
 Or dirt I’ll bask.
 It’s such a chore,
 It drives me mad,
 But if I don’t,
 Then I’ll smell bad.
 So cheer me on,
 I’m on my way.
 Today, my friends,
 Is laundry day.
 

 
 
 
 

Love of Life

Savour the stars
 And value the night,
 Then when the sun rises
 Appreciate light.
 Remember the good things
 And cast out the bad.
 Try to keep smiling
 And not be too sad.
 Beauty abounds,
 It’s just hard to view,
 When things aren’t so good
 They’re hidden from you.
 So take a deep breath
 And hold Gaia close,
 Then soon you will realise
 It’s life you love most.
 
 
 
 
 

True Strength

Strength is not defined within normal parameters
 
 It is not measured by the hand that wields the gun
 
 Nor in the coins that waterfall from manicured hands
 
 It cannot be gleaned from oppression, violence and pain
 
 Not even in the pen of the politician for their ink is stained with blood
 
 No, my friends
 
 Only in the smiles of those who will not buckle
 
 And the hearts that wield hope
 
 Only there is the strength of truth
 
 Only there
 
 
 
 
 

Bridged

There are few of man’s creations, 

Little of his expertise,

That I should rate as exquisite.

Despite the unrivalled qualities,

The sheer perfectionism of classical architecture, 

The paintings of masters, voices of divas,

There is none that compliment or even enhance nature,

As the lines of a bridge.

Whenever I see one, I gasp,

And ask myself if it was set their by angel or man.

The lines between the two are so easy to blur.