Small Aspirations.
Blow if you must
Spiteful little gust
But please don't disturb my leaves.
I've been raking all morning
And it's really not my calling
So just fuck off if you please.
6.11.03
That the tint on the lid
Match the paint in the can
And the colour it dries on the wall.
It seems insufficient
For the shades to be different.
Is it too much to ask, after all?
6.11.03
I've got a shower
That's not
As hot
As it ought to be.
Then suddenly,
Blissfully,
It is.
6.11.03
What could be worse
Than seeing the creation
Of small verse
From smaller aspiration,
And then articulating
The disjoint
To find that there's
More poem than point?
10.11.03
After I am dead and my ludicrous dreams have finally been abandoned,
this notebook will remain to bear disgruntled testimony,
until the last spidery vestiges are unceremoniously recycled.
Perhaps you will burn me on a pyre of my own scribblings.
How elegant.
23.02.10
I never imagined
I would find myself
Sitting in my kitchen
Watching my stainless steel toaster.
Life doesn't deliver
What you expect.
Hot buttered toast.
Reasonable consolation.
27.07.12
A scarlet bubble
Blown to the fading sun.
A moon that bursts in colour
And night's begun.
26.05.13
After the dream.
We were after the dream.
That was what happened.
06.11.13