One can be surrounded
And completely alone

Or

One can be alone
And overcrowded

But

If I’m to be alone
I’m glad it’s with you

It is a grey day
And I’m in a grey way
Did the clouds bring me down
Or was it the other way around
It’s hard to say
But I’ve lost myself
At least for now
In the thick mist
That surrounds
But it will lift
As is the way of things
Just wait it out
The sun will arrive
Without a doubt

Remember Tuscany’s cerulean skies
The blue above the green olive groves
As we walked beneath the branches
On the summer hills above Vicopisano;
Remember exploring the streets of Rome
Leaving our footprints in the Eternal City
Or wandering beneath the lights of Luca;
Or the day sailing on the Tagus River
Drinking vinho verde as Lisbon looked on
Then later climbing to the Moorish castle;
Remember exploring through London
Along the dark and ancient Thames
The journey to old Highgate Cemetery
Overgrown and filled with the famous –
Karl Marx, Rossetti, and Richard Adams;
Then there was welcoming Amsterdam
And her busy canals flowing at our feet;
There was New Orleans and Puerto Rico
Mexico, and New York on New Years Day
There were windswept black sand beaches
Along the wild volcanic coasts of Iceland
And Reykjavik’s church Hallgrímskirkja –
You can see the lighthouse we visited
From the windswept heights of the spire;
The cold waters of Selfoss and Hengifoss
Cascading into mists upon our faces
As geyser and the hot springs waited…

Remember how we witnessed the world
In the glory of the ancient and modern
I saw it through your eyes,
You saw it through mine
What days of wonder.

How do I describe
This very blue that sits
In the centre of the sky
And how it is softly
Shaded to white
Along the low horizon
As the cool breeze plays
Like coy lover’s fingers
Light along my dimpled skin
While the still world is bathed
In the gold of a new morning sun
Such that it seems there’s a stillness
Of a life lost in it’s own beauty…

It is impossible
To put into words.

I birthed this poem
Inside of my head
But I forgot about it
And now it’s dead
A simple limerick
With simple rhyme instead
And it will rot behind my skull
As words forever left unsaid.

He was right
When he wrote

“Tomorrow
And tomorrow
And tomorrow
Creeps in this pretty pace
From day to day
Until the last syllable
Of recorded time…”

Every moment drags
Like an anchor
Across a sandy bottom
Slow yet finding no purchase;
But he was wrong too,
Because a lifetime
That takes forever to cross
Can pass on the blink of an eye
So slow and so quick
Rarely is it… just right

Try not to write about the heart

For fear it awakens from slumber

And speak not of fear or anxiety

Lest they take root on the tongue

And spread like a virus to others

One must keep one’s tastes bland

Hide the spices in the pantry

And remain content with absence

Just breathe and stay silent

Because when no one moves,

No one gets hurt…or so the myth goes

fear takes a hole
you might stumble into
ands digs it deeper
to the centre of the earth
then sneaks up behind you
and pushes you over the edge
making you believe
that as you fall
this made more sense
than filling it in

the world is an emerald
that the sun is shining through
making prismatic shadows
bright with green and gold
as the wind sounds like sand
sliding down a cliff

i want to believe
the light that shines on me
is real
and the sun didn’t burn out
8 minutes ago
that the warmth sent my way
is genuine
and not the figment of
a desparate imagination
slowly freezing to death
in the chill of a world
absent of all the good things
that once brightened his way

but i know this –
a man tends to believe
whatever he wants to believe
despite the consequences;
he shuts his eyes at night
and pretends it’s still the day