Diver

Diver

He dived for a pearl
but the sea kept it hid.
He found a jewel box
but could not lever the lid.
Thwarted by time,
it mocked what he did.

He escaped by travel,
down roads, through air.
He never could settle,
could not stay with a soul,
not even a goddess
with gold in her hair.

He became a sailor,
and was taught by the waves
how to stand sturdy on deck,
and what the sea drowns,
and what the sea saves.

He dived for a pearl
and it shone in his mind.
In such a vast sea,
what now could he find?

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No Road

No Road

No road should be that wide.
More than half way there,
I knew I’d never reach the other side.
No, no road should be that wide.

No road should be that wide.
Would be easier
to try to stop the tide
than to reach the other side.
Even if you were tall, had a long stride,
your crossing would be denied.
No, no road should be that wide.

My feet felt like bags of dry shells,
my legs like iron rods, cold and stiff.
I could not take another step.
I feared a fall from a cliff.

A black smudge formed in the air,
a vehicle to menace the night.
From the dream drama, I broke free,
glad to see my room in grey light.

I blame it on the dust,
not the kind that settles on furniture
but on the mind,
to bring muffle to the ear, error to the eye.
It was just a deathly dream.
I let it go by.

No road should be that wide,
not if it was built so you could get to the other side.
No road should be that wide.

Water Tune

Water Tune

There will be no hose pipe ban,
not with all this rain.
It patters on the shed roof,
trickles down the drain.
Tap water for your watering can
you will not need again.

The red path of the heat wave
arched over upper air,
swelled the high summer days,
now it is not there.
September will soon be here.
Lower in the sky,
sun will deepen colours, ripen apples,
as geese rise and fly.

The Snow Queen in her sleigh
waits for snow to fall.
Once again I’ll hope to see
a robin on the wall.
Listen to the water tune
rain plays in the yard.
Too fine for a pipe or flute,
to learn would be hard.

Reservoirs are filling up,
threat of drought has gone.
Somewhere swans swim on the lakes,
rivers roll roughly on.
No shelter for the sparrows.
Seagulls cry from the shore.
Deck chairs forgot in beach huts,
not needed anymore.

The Dream Of The Flying Fried Egg

The Dream Of The Flying Fried Egg

The universe took forever to get started.
Once it did it never stopped.

He can be Heracles, she can be Cleopatra.
We can be whoever we want to be in our dreams.
He can be Achilles, she can be Boadacea.
The river branches to the sea in many streams.

He can be the knight who rescues the maiden from the tower,
who saves the king from the rebel plot.
She can be the one who frees Joan of Arc from the fire,
who becomes the princess in tales long forgot.

This is the dream of the flying fried egg.
It flies in through your kitchen window
and lands on your plate.
You choose to eat it with peas and mashed potato.
Later, you wonder why you were chosen.
Distracted by attention to time,
you are relieved to be more early than late.
Waked from the dream of the flying fried egg,
you put on your boots and take your coat from the peg.

Whatever I could dream I could never dream you.
Whatever you could dream you could never dream me.
That means you cannot beat reality.

May the black turtle lead you to the shore.
May the white crane lift from the lake in your dreams
when you open the door.

The Life Of A Crab

The Life Of A Crab

From the outside, it may seem drab,
the life of a crab.
But if you like salt water and sand,
it’s really quite grand.

Rock pools on a rocky coast,
what crabs like the most,
furnished with seaweed, shells and fern,
room to crawl and turn.

Eels spy with telescopic eye,
gulls screech to defy.
Can get a bit fishy round here,
when not oyster clear.

Crabs can follow the seahorse trail,
signs left by a snail,
to coral courts hid by the sea,
where the mermaids be.

From the inside, it’s never drab,
the life of a crab.
Like Barnacle Bill Buccaneer,
it wells with good cheer,

Other People

Other People

What a problem. Other people.
Other people are not you.
Other people might see red when you see blue.
Some other people may prove bad for you.
Some other people may prove a friend to you.
Other people are the many, you are the few.
You will meet other people whatever you do.

What a fascination. Other people.
Some other people will leave you behind.
Some other people you will want to cast from your mind.
Some other people may seem to be your kind.

What a wonder. Other people.
Some other people may march with signs.
Some other people may work outside the lines.
Some other people may want you to lose when you try to win.
Some other people may hunt like sharks without a warning fin.
Some other people may in the end help you to begin.

“Hell is other people.”
A quote from No Exit that Sartre wrote.
As regards other people that is not always true.
Other people can be heaven, too.

What a puzzle. Other people.

Short Observation

Short Observation

Bowler hatted business men exist,
real as London rain and mist,
true as a tale without a twist.
Watch one nod his head to another,
maybe more as a rival than a brother.
The papers in their cases,
written in the language of the law,
are officially important,
disclosed behind the office door.
One of many worlds I will never know,
remote as an igloo in the snow.