The play

Alone in the dark, I write
as I dwell on thoughts into the night.
The world, my stage.
My life, the play.
The moon, my spotlight.

I perform to all who wish to see;
my solo act, myself and me.
There’s no applause,
no chants or roars.
My mood, the scene.

The lines I speak cannot be heard
by ears that listen alone for words.
The length unknown.
Its pace, my own.
The theme, absurd.

The performance, it continues still,
‘till suns don’t burn and looks can kill.
I know no more.
My future, unsure.
The play, my will.


The last Summer evening

God’s palette, it seemed,
had not much to spare,
for the sky was painted a monotone blue.
All through the trees,
was a still, silent air,
standing in wait like a crowd for the Tube.

They all hung like towels on a rail,
stood like guards at the gate.
They whisper with their leafy tongues
to let me know it’s getting late.

The bird houses now vacated
as summer bids farewell.
But my smile will not be faded
so long as I’ve stories to tell.

Watch me

I am a stranger to success,
but be not fooled by my past.
My time is rising like the morning sun;
watch me.

Upon the golden cup of glory,
there’s a part untouched by names.
‘See if it won’t be mine!’ are my words;
mark them.

I do not shine like the open fire
nor boast like the Olympic flame,
but I burn like them, none the less,
and grow.

I‘ve made no name for myself,
though I bear the initials APM,
the God of Time;
learn them.

Where the water looks like sky

The water’s reflection made it seem
like the island was floating upon a sky.
A carpet of grass glowed magnificent green,
and its shore undisturbed, less the boats sailing by.

The coolness licked my toes and my feet,
and the palm trees hugged me with shade.
There’s a man, tenacious, at the top of the beach,
reliant upon his traditional trade.

Back in my chalet, I rest alone,
lit by an attractive blue light.
I savour the moon, let it turn me to stone,
and lay down to sleep for my last island night.

Leaving by plane, I know in my heart
how I’d rather have said goodbye.
I wish I could leave upon an old wooden raft,
and dream my way home across this blue sky.

The friend

I’m the friendly face that greets you in the morning.
I’m the sympathetic ear that listens to you.
I’m the strong shoulder on which you choose to cry.
Trust in me, I’m true through and through.

The lover, the player, you know I’m not them.
I’m the carer, the mentor, the brother, the friend.


In a metaphorical world,
where reality and comparison meet,
we fill our pails with choices
from wells, running deep.

Those shallow wells make shallow souls.
For her you mustn’t weep,
she spilt herself too many times;
ain’t tears that wet her feet.

And though his well swims to the brim
you mustn’t be mistaken,
for his hot water runs blood red,
and best be seen forsaken.

But when I look into your eyes,
I know your well is true.
Let me dive into your heart
and drown in it with you.

We shan’t be tempted by colourful waters,
nor fill our pails beyond their peak.
He’ll show us where the well’s dug true,
where the water still runs deep.

Ambition for the rich

When all’s obtained, nothing left to receive,
when the last box in the list has been crossed,
what is left of life, what’s more to achieve?
What now holds our sprightly spirits aloft?
Been everywhere, seen it all, done it all,
no place on Earth where the slate will wipe clean.
Now into empty sleep you start to fall,
for now there’s nothing left for you to dream.
Time after time tedium fills your glass,
and gambles away your endless supply.
Savour young memories of games on the grass
because under it is now where you lie,
learning this lesson, on your heart it’s stitched:
there can be no ambition for the rich.

Peaceful disturbance

A cold air of paranoia hallucinates outside,
as the trees give a shiver, shaking off flies,
the shadowy streets goad the morning to rise
and a dusty light fails in the far-away sky.

A slow, soundless and sinister breeze
strokes fear gently behind the ears.
But, somewhere within this murderous scene,
an essence of peace appears

for no sunlight scorches the soil
or burns the lightless eyes.
No creature disturbs the dew,
or spoils the air with a cry.

The dark velvet above, protects us all
from yesterday’s recall.
Engraved in the heart of a cool pre-dawn
is the wording that states: a new day is born.

Plead for paradise

Don’t settle for less when you are worth more
than your possessor gives you credit for.
I want you to be loved with the greatest affection,
and be content with nothing shy of perfection.

You mustn’t be blinded by the comforts of now,
be immune to the touch, nor deaf to the sound.
You cannot ignore your desires, believe them;
hitchhike with me to the Garden of Eden.

Giving way

Eyes on the prize,
but blind to all other;
to think the prize in the eye of another!
Too determined to see,
too unwilling to believe,
that two seek the path that leads.

But I saw the light,
and my conscience grew.
I took a step back,
let the other one through.