The Cruellest Number ?


Full of satisfied mystery:

That warm, post-coital smile.

“One is always

The cruellest number,”

She sighs

On a shallow,

Honey’d outbreath.

The room is still, now;

Open window admits

No sound –

For there is none.

She’s so good

To me,

For me …

But, in every way,

So very wrong too.


I’m secretly thinking,

“Is far more cruel.”

To Union

Long is long,

Straight is straight,

‘N’ this ain’t over yet.


Bitter blues,

Frozen-mist locks,

Apathy shocks;

Which way to

The junction?


Long is lonely,

Straight is strange

‘N’ this ain’t over yet.


Smoking bridges,

Missed chords,

Lost keys:

On the way to union.



The Shop of Winds

I am seeking

Adventure, mystery

In the shop of winds;

Using the door that

Can only be used only once –

Inspired by the majesty,

Attitude and power of

A rainbow in

Full flight.

Time’s blurred line,

Chocolate bubbles in

Rose-pink wine;

Tight-flame curls

And long-hot kisses.

Bells will ring

And angels sing

Before the year is done.


Stopping By Woods …

Whose woods these are I think I know.  

His house is in the village though;  

He will not see me stopping here  

To watch his woods fill up with snow.  

My little horse must think it queer  

To stop without a farmhouse near  

Between the woods and frozen lake  

The darkest evening of the year.  

He gives his harness bells a shake  

To ask if there is some mistake.  

The only other sound’s the sweep  

Of easy wind and downy flake.  

The woods are lovely, dark and deep.  

But I have promises to keep,  

And miles to go before I sleep,  

And miles to go before I sleep.


Robert Frost (1874 – 1963)