, ,

It’s where it all began for me
Sat on sofa hand on knee
Resting a room temperature whiskey.
Can’t you feel the spark from my eyes?
As I look at old photographs
I realize a part of me dies… Yearly.
Taking a breath and a sip.
Resting my hand now gently on your hip.
Oh if only people new what it would mean .
To see their reflection in the blackened colour of an off television screen.
As I look at mine now.
Have I gone a little crazy?
A thought rings clear.
Then my old smile returns and I realize that maybe land is really near.
I guess this would be the most personal I could get.
But in the morning I think this was shit and delete it without regret.
So here I ll stay framed by plastic the colour of grey.
I hope somebody understands.

The End
A. Poet.

Return to Nagano


, ,

Sat on the coach
All numb and quite bored.
Until I see the mountains
I took for granted
Now adored.

Just one hour left
On this long journey home
As I try to remember excitement
… For Tokyo.

No early morning traffic
Or crowded subway trains.
Just hills valleys and ski slopes
To start my day.

Two weeks of the comforts
Of all nature can afford
I’m a country boy at heart
It can not be ignored.

The End
A . Poet.

Lost at sea


, , ,

Dwindled are the flowers of hope
Returned to purpose by the rope
Times grimy hand
That reashores
The choice is not mine or yours.
But each much choose
And we all must pay
For we all have an allotted day
A window in this space and time
Which does not care if withered or prime.
Dwindled are the flowers of hope
That have no purpose without rope.
For those of you lost at sea
For those of you lost …. at sea.
The End.