Words.

Memory Creation
The whirring, the click…
no flash.
The rare photos that were retained,
Woman’s vainity and
self-satisfaction
the benchmark of each
and every occasion.
Past photos apart from each
other unknowingly shared
to piece together a collage
of memory.

The flipping, the scribbling…
non-entries.
Blank days never occured,
just empty lines summarizing
in memory
that can be recalled in the
very ways as we wished.
Referring back while
looking forward
the best prospects only lie
ahead in
memory’s wake.

As she sleeps softly
As she sleeps softly
calm breathing rising falling
she lulls me along.

To And From The Promenade
A straightforward route to
the Promenade
from Moorend Street.
Empty roads and walkways
echo the plodding of footsteps
and thoughts of the mind,
amplifying into the cold.
Rolling hills surround all the
town’s pathways that guide,
gentle persuasion of direction,
from Dorchester Court straight up,
a slight kink to the left before
lining up straight again
past Queen’s.
To the Promenade and back,
to the crowds and back
to undecided thoughts forming
themselves into concrete decisions.

All I Need
Reaching out
from myself,

my hand stretches out
to grab hold

of all I need
from myself:

A God and
a belief.

Train Ride
The train left the station
and brought me across
the Channel

back onto the continent
nearer to Paris,
nearer to the end of the year.

I heard rumblings as
the train travelled on
the rails;
I thought the ramblings as
my train of though
rumbled along.

My back faced my destination
as I thought of the past
noted the present
and dreamt of the future
which

eventually

becomes part of the past
behind all of us.

The train still carried me
along its tracks,
gliding swiftly forward

unchangin
unswervng
from the fixity of its rails.