shall we talk?

dry leafless trees in foggy woodland
Photo by Luca Paul on

Shall we talk about love on cotton clouds

On beds of pines that softly press below the feet

And shall we talk about the day we split

As branches pare from steadfast trunks

That dug their roots so many years ago

We’ll always walk like ghostly prints

Left behind in forests where the children run

We wish we’d made more effort to

Make permanent the words we spoke

Things we did, the skin we touched

But that’s as far as we can dream

On rainy afternoons we live like these.

LOVe and other drugs

It’s sometimes messy, they say,

When leather’s wrapped round desperate arms

And chemicals can course through veins,

When lovers drop to scraped up knees

And wish on stars that they had never met,

We take a thoughtful step away

Knowing that it’s far too late

To wind that clock back to day dot,

Undoing work of addicts’ hands.

under the bridge, where life once happened

architectural architecture beautiful bloom
Photo by Pixabay on

I often walk past crumbling bricks

In the shape of bridges and rotting forts

And I dream of lives that once took place

Under the shadows that covered sins

And love’s first kiss on picnic blankets.

When old and grey they do return,

Hand in hand they smile on days of youth

That disappeared some fifty years ago.

I always wonder what those bridges see;

What the dying castle ruin may have witnessed

And what will die when they are gone.

young and in love

do you remember the days

when loving each other

was simply a case

of riding our bikes, side by side,

and timidly kissing

under the willow tree

down by the lake

where we fished

and at night we skinny dipped?