A little homesick, went inside;
Looked for friends; but couldn’t see ’em.
In hindsight, the title’s
Just a little rash;
The Phoenix Museum
Is now a pile of ash…
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Still, silent, radiant in myself I sat,
and yet I loved to play at love;so made my worshipper, my lover.Now my worshipper, my dearest one,is become the mirror which we shareglancing, laughing with ourselves,laughing with each other’s selfin the mirror of the memorywhich is the loving heart.
lay the lettuce on the plate first
of the iceberg lettuce which candisturb hearing aidsif you’re into fartsy additional vegchop them up small and sprinkleit saves the whole edifice deconstructingwhen you take the pin outthen a slice say an inch thickof wholemeal bread whichyou’ve soaked in olive oil and lemon juiceand rubbed garlic across as ifyou were ironing the curtainsof a dolls’…
There was a young laddie named Pefecation
But the social disdainAnd the blockage of drainMade poor Pitt dig a pit for his defecation.
In the Hundred Acre Wood, agitation spread like one of those cold March winds that seem to be blowing in every direction at once. All the Animals were murmuring to each other, then to someone else, and rumour spread like blown dry leaves in an autumn gale..
and which said something about ‘…Robin…girl’…What could it mean? Had CR found a girlfriend? Pooh was half happy for him, but the other half knew that girls meant boys having less time for walks in the wood with bears, however Much Loved…Others feared that CR would be going away to school, as he had told…
roses are red
Saint Valentine sayshe needs poets to write…roses are red(well, some are pink) :Saint Valentine sayshe needs hearts expressed in ink..poems are read;that’s the good news here;Saint Valentine’s daycould last all year…
To make of every poem
honourable failure; blazewith glorious sadness:laughing at the glory,smiling at the sadness;but hearing in the heartthat which cannot be said, butis to be ever listened to:unknown, formless, eternal, always present.