Not Wanting To Hurt He Buried The Thought

Not wanting to hurt he buried the thought that he was having and took a long look at the world outside the place he was in at that moment.  Thoughts often caused him discomfort and he was not sure why or even why he thought anything at all. 

No Matter What Take Care of Love

Yesterday it seems that I was careless and the love I was carrying dropped through a hole in my pocket. 

A Nice Cup of British Tea or How a British Tea Shop Should Be

 It is a sad fact that in Japan a truly satisfying cup of English tea is something of a rare thing.  I found myself dreaming the other night about the chink of bone china and the noise tea makes as you pour.  I could almost taste the real amber nectar.

Golden Threads

 At the start,if your heart is pure, thare are golden threads reaching out to each other. If we are careful and let it happen these threads will weave together into the fabric of our love.

I Know A Woman Who Reminds Me Of Autumn

 

I know a woman who reminds me of Autumn

Her hair is like the trees dark silhouette shot with silvery threads.

Her fragrance clings to me like morning mist.

Her eyes the colour of falling leaves, leaves etched against the sky.

I long to hold her as if the beauty of Autumn could be gathered up and held.

When I think of her my mind is a wash of rusett browns and gold.

So I stop and open my mind to the forest when all about is still.

I let the beauty around me enter my being and take form.

And, in a moment of clarity, I see a woman who reminds me of Autumn.

Mid 1990s

For Love

Your eyes linger on in my mind without them there is no window on your soul.

Nor do I see much if ever without the light tracings of your finger tips.

Across the wide expanse of my feelings I burn with fire.

And I tremble with the icy touch of the thought that your love.

May one day be taken or lost then my being will will no more.

Then all that I am will be an empty frame around a vacant landscape.

Picture of greyness drained of colour longing for the warmth of your gaze.

1991

Looking At The Picture

 

I looked at the faded colour picture that was me and wept for the child that grew older and forgot the wonder of the world found new.

I looked at the photograph of a place, where in younger years, I played, and thought, and never saw that all must one day pass.

I looked into the face of innocence then into the mirror at a face that seems etched with worries more numerous as years fail.

I looked at the little button nosed boy ice pop in one hand never suspecting the camera would capture his soul forever.

I remember him now.

1982