must have a passport, with photo…
(our local brewery
still used them for local deliveries –
accountants proved them cheaper;
and of course, great publicity)
How many horses
can you get in one
photo-booth?
And they’ll need quite a few more
shit-hot
passport inspectors
so watch that arab stallion
strolling so casually
onto the cross-Channel ferry –
might he….?
Similar Posts
He looks out at you from the photograph
thick lenses would place your imagein a plane you don’t inhabit;like a fish that in an aquariumsuddenly swims direct toward youstopping at the glass to stare a moment:was there a meeting? Whatare you to the fish?So, nothing. Then next day,he’s propping his bike against the wall,bending down to take off his cycle clips;caught so close,…
My dearest one: tell me,
I said to My BelovedIn everything I do, I fail, fall shortof what I would offer from my heart to You;You see this; and say nothing.But then you hide behind my eyes;and so I see with Your eyes,where I have failed;Seeing all this with Your eyes,how can I not return to You,O My Beloved?
yeah yeah, nothing for you to boast about –
no, make that 20 – who’s got time for more,even if they were masterpieces…’So perhaps, merely a little quiet satisfactionin a personal kinda way: I guessretirement years hang heavily for some,recalling days of authority, command;others find them richer, busier than ever; ordo just the same jobs as they did so well, exceptthey don’t get paid…
He was full of questions.
that stunned their knowledge and their world;for him, his answers were but springboardsfor his further questions.He was the humblest of agnostics,the humblest too, of atheists:in the absence of sure faith in answers,he lived with faith in questions;and lived in wonder – full of wonder at the lawsthat unfolded to his curiosity;an eternity of questions;an eternity…
Henman, Henman,
give the other guy a chance, right?tennis should be just a game…why be in a hurrylike that wee brash Andy Murray,who’s on the way to riches, and to injury, and fame?
The sun’s shining here,
the sort of dayI just might put on that new tieexcept I don’t wear ties while writing poems;how about a new poetic style,though of course, said Eeyore,no-one would notice…The choice offers itselflike those two optimistic primulas in slightly corny colours out theresunning themselves after a winter bravely endured:how about a confidently laid-back,assured as of paradise…