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Red is not a colour they say.

Just a hue, made by you,
in your head, until your dead.

And neither's Green for that matter.
Another hue that's up to you,
despite the pile of greenish bile
in your hanky when you blow,

you know for sure, that ain't snow.

There's no clue to hue in Blue,
It's yellow and green, what a con
mix together and both are gone
just leaving blue inside of you.

Let not thy requiem be

Let not thy requiem be
marble tablets for all to see,
but few to know what lies within beneath
the clean cut grass and dying roses,
souls at rest but yet, whose bodies' away,
in a now silent place amongst those they would protect,
all together, yet each alone under wood or glade, sea or sand from rock,
eroded by the blasting winds of human nature

Dad

No title good enough
Dad, look at the height of the tower I just built,
the length of the track I weaved amongst the legs of the dining room table.
No dad, I did not scratch the furniture. Mum said it was ok. I’ll pack it away.
Look at the camp I made out of blankets and coats dad.
Dad, I’ll be cowboys if you’ll be Indians dad?
Dad?

Dad I rode 5 miles on my own today. I took photos of the ducks dad.
In black and white. I think they came out really well dad.
Dad? Do you like them dad? No I did not get the camera wet dad.

I know a guy who knew a girl who knew a bloke that once heard
you might be proud of me.

Dad, I have won the Nobel Prize for the world’s greatest son,
the gold medal for being caring and generous,
the Oscar for best actor in life and the comedy award
for best impersonator.

I cured cancer, I beat world hunger and I have created peace on earth
and all before lunch today dad.
I have climbed Everest to reach you dad, but when I got to the top you were still not there.

There are no higher mountains to climb, no more disease to cure, no more hungry people dad.
No more places to look for you, no more places to search for me.

I know a guy who knew a girl who knew a bloke that once heard
you might be proud of me.

I don’t think its true. It can’t have been you.

Commercialism

Commercialism is rife I see,
With advertising on TV,
Selling to mother and selling to brother,
Selling to aunt who afford she can’t,
To buy the things they try to hide,
In product placements nationwide.
But we are savvy and they don’t learn,
The things they push, we start to spurn.
Instead of coke I’d drink linseed oil,
Just in order to ensure I spoil,
Their demographic As, Bs and Cs
And the theories of whom they please.
When with smiles and fake ado
They try to sell a pile of poo
At half the price and twice it’s worth
and double height and half the girth
Of any other that’s being sold
Or so was the result of the audience polled*
*(4 out of 12 users said their aunts preferred it)

The Final Race

This race was mine, certain from the day I qualified.
Two long years of preparation spent I,
Daily exercise, crude but healthy diet,
no luxuries to tempt me.
Life in isolation, utter focus on the event ahead
and on the prize everyone eventually wins,
my chance coming sooner than most

The day is here
My handlers, cruel and uncaring. They have their job to do.
Give me one last meal before the off.
Meat and water. Dried biscuit. Protein and Carbs.
I am led to the start, my handlers and two officials accompanying me.
I hear the crowd chattering.
They have waited for this event for two years.
Headlines in all the papers.
Many fought to stop it. Cruel they said, barbaric

I could feel the course roughness of the collar they fitted to me
heavy and itchy against my neck, so so rough.
It was close now, the crowd starting to focus
I could smell the tension, the anticipation in the air
I position myself in the middle of the trap door
wanting a clean exit out of the trap.
No weaving around, I need to do this with style

The crowd starts to chant, my heartbeat racing,
sweat pouring, stinging my eyes. I cannot see
‘do it, do it, do it’ they cry
Please start, the wait seems eternal
There is no starters pistol, just the sound of the trap door flying open
The crowd roars
The race begins

I am amazed by my own acceleration
It’s a short race, over before it is begun, a sprint to the end
As the finish line approaches I feel my collar start to tighten
I would love to gesture to the watching crowd as I cross the finish
But it’s against the rules. My hands are tied
As my head tilts to one side, I know I am there.
No lap of honour. No honour left at all, just swinging gently.
Left hanging. I have run this race alone.
Race over, the prize, eternal rest
The crowd leaves.

Through my eyes

If only you could see the world through my eyes.
The beauty of the bridge on a grey and rainy day.
The bright red of a discarded coke can,
the lock, deeper than its own meaning.
The willow, crying tears of joy at the beginning of the summer rains.
If your heart could feel what my heart felt,
Oh the joy you would feel at the world,
Oh the sadness of the loneliness you'd feel.

All it is to be

The aesthetic of Plato's forms entices me.
The infinite beauty of the impossible.
The temptation of the unobtainable.
The search for perfection, always known and yet unknowable,
sensed but untouchable.
Always there, but never exists.
All that can be, it is.
All that it is to be, all that could be.
The end that justifies all means.
All that we hope for.
Hope itself.

Moon

Moon half, gazing mournfully from dusk.
How long till day when return it must
to search amongst the stars, each night returning
more complete, until in glory
it beams a smile of one who is at last whole,
only to wane and begin the search anew.

Here I stand

Here I stand on the cliff edge
lantern in hand, braced
against nature's screaming rage.
My light to guide a ship
home, to where the waters are warm
and still.
But there are no ships in sight.
Just a lantern lined cliff of a billion souls braced
against nature's screaming rage.
Each waiting for a ship that can never come.

Empty Slippers

Presents unopened under an unlit tree
wrapped with love, crinkled paper and tape
Tags of snowmen with orange noses and black hats,
a Christmas attire appropriate for the occasion.
A pair of empty slippers by the fireside
A family of heavy hearts at a joyous time.

Presents opened on the floor of the family home
rich smells of a baking oven of treats to come
the table set for all, and all set for the table
Kids playing, crumpled paper and tape all around,
discarded tags of Santa with jolly smile,
a suitable family Christmas attire.

A time for the young, with happiness wrapped in glitter and ribbon.
A time for the rest to remember, to be happy and sad, together and alone,
lightened only by fond memories of a life moved on.
Raise a glass for what has been and what will come again
and believe with all your soul, a toast of 'au revoir'.

A family gathered in a quiet green yard in January
black statues moved but not moving stand
stiller than the grey stones surrounding.
A gentle rain falling on the tear dampened grass
a single loved one without umbrella
The patter of the rain dulling the echoes of falling earth on wood.

Let go of your grief, do not dwell
on the things you have lost,
for each that goes leaves many in their wake,
a time to hold on to those who love and be loved,
a time to be apart and a time to know
that in the end, we will all be together again