Times …

There are times,

Fleeting times,

When he can catch his breath,

When his heart isn’t batter-hammering

Inside his chest,

Inside his brain,

That he can believe the lies:

That he is gaining on the familiar figure

Disappearing through the doors,

Ahead, frustratingly just beyond recognition;

That he can decide whenever he wants

To stop running;

Continue reading

Ironbridge.

Work-a-day sun high burnin’

Growin’ dull, respectful red and cider-cold;

Dawn’s melody slowly turnin’

Becoming familiar, restful, old.

Harvest hopes answered

Ripening to warm-honey gold:

English: The Ironbridge

Friends will always know each other –

If their stories be honestly told –

That  distance and language matter not

When time and hearts be weighed and sold.

30/7/2013

To A Doodle

It was, truly, nothing

When I began – mere

Automatic scribble –

Then suggestions began

To surface, gasping,

Grasping for recognition.

Now, is it a

Saucer or a jet-wing?

You would think I should know;

The pencil is in my hand

After all …

 

But, still I hesitate;

Delaying decision:

My fingers begin

To twitch again.

 

12/9/2012