Saturday Tide

The words are meaningless, the outlook tired

Harder, softer Need a cushion on the floor

Nose to nose with man’s best friend in mind

sniffing hairs and tidbits left behind

Down here its another world

(and we are free) draining cups of lukewarm coffee.

leaning on each other for support

We right ourselves in our rapport

And live to fight another day

Hurrah for us. Hurrah. Hurrah. Hurrah.

Off the sea

I can hear the waves rushing in off the sea

I don’t know but to me this is poetry

Its like everyone is here from 1993

In the air is a poem carrying some psyence fiction

and in my throat a sound, like a moan but more guttural like a gorilla

Children of the age from Landon town in pink wearing a frown upside down

Marshmallows by the fire and suddenly its time! So soon. Back to my room.

And it’s the Seventies again tonite. Come on Eileen! Come on! We’re having fun.

David Bowie on a yacht asking me could it be so much fun. Weeeeeeeeeeeeeee!

Yes I can grab your gun we’re going for a run into town to see what’s going down

Hello, Titch, I’ve got a dog named Mitch back at home but here I’m all alone…

Alone in despair but I don’t care. I think I’m destined for better things.

What rhymes with this mote on my finger? Better things/ Golden Rings

Suddenly I’m ten again and the world seems to be very large. I play in a corner, alone.

Are you one of them? Or are you one of us? to which the only answer can be – I think I’m one of me.

Speedway on the track, no time for looking back into a grey haze on duvet days.

Another false dawn comes as no surprise to my eyes, my eyes, my eyes come as no surprise.

And blink and count back from ten. Then come looking for us.