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You’re Going to Miss Me When I’m Gone

You’re going to miss me when I’m gone
Perhaps not every hour of every day but some of the time.
You’re are going to miss me when I’ve gone,
Perhaps not enough to cry but enough to hurt inside.
You are going to miss me when I have gone;
Perhaps not in the winter when you hibernate,
Nor in the spring when you wake…
Perhaps not in the summer when you feel most alive
But in the Autumn when your golden leaves fall
And your long days become short.

Trying to Tune into a Radio Station

“My name is…erm my name is…
I don’t know who I am or where I’m going
But I do wish I was happy!”

All you need is love
All you need is love, love.
Love is all you need.

Thursday morning too tired to get out of bed
Friday morning feels the same
Need to clear my head.

Bullet in the Sky…

This Coat

This coat, you’ve given me,
Has no outlets for my hands,
No vents at the front or at the back.
When I move it wraps me,

The Class

They’re talking,
Reminiscing about things they’d seen
On last night’s TV.
Some scribble, drawing symbols of what they wear,
Writing names of those they think they love.
My ears pricked up,
When things of old are mentioned,
Wondering how they know
Such obscure souls
Ancient before they were known.
Now one of them sings – hums
A song that makes some of the others
Tap their fingers on their desk.
One speaks with passion
Something relating to politics;
A killer.


Sunflower, sunflower
Turn your head around…

Sunflower, sunflower yellow
It’s a case of you and I feeling
How shall I put it?

Stranger at my door

A knock at my door – and there he stood;
What have you come here for? I asked,
No one here expects you nor wants you.

But he smiled a wry smile, his look looking beyond me.
He tried to push by and when I protested he laughed
The sound like an earthquake penetrated my mind
And something deep inside.


Are you
A trick
Of life’s enticement
Deluding all I think is real?

A day ago
I was in another age,
Caught up in my mundane dream…
In my self-fulfilling world
Doing the same thing again,
And again
Ignorant of serendipity.


A pinprick of consciousness salivates my mind,
Opens that door.
The pupils of my eyes pulsates –
Like a ballerina pulsates on her elegant toes…

My breath is yesterday’s bread
Knows what has gone – contrite.