"Neon Nights"

the pastel shades of

sunlit

afternoons

gentle breeze

reflective mood


drifting towards those

neon nights

passionately alive

hypnotised by illusion

and programmed beats

on a crowded dance floor


fading into

the fragility

of greyscale morning-after

duty

familiar pounding

repentant now

reflective mood

"Dissolve"

those final

dusky pinks

now dissolve into grey

as inspiration fades

and her last grains

of almost-hope

slip slowly, painfully

away

"Spiritual Peace" (second version of poem, with alternative wording for one line)

I find my place of spiritual peace

Again, just when I feel I never will.

There is a sense of freedom and release.

I can't know all the answers, but am still


In touch with The Divine, and that is real.

We're all connected. Life is precious, and

Life doesn't end with death. Sometimes we feel

A presence, and we come to understand


That nobody who's ever been has gone.

The spirits of the ones we've loved remain.

They will protect us - help us to go on.

There is almost a beauty in the pain.


Although sometimes I find it hard to trust,

Truth's constant. Feel the patterns in the rust.

"Unwritten, Unsent"

they tumble through my mind

the lines

as I lie here in bed

poems

at least one each

for each childhood friend

words like chords

that descend

emotions and moments

so much too much pain

captured again

the poems that will not

must not

make the dangerous

journey from my head

to a page


we're sorry

not

but your message

could not be sent

please do not try again

"Confusion"

illusions

sweet, neat delusions

strange conclusions

constant confusion

crazy

thoughts hazy

always, always in a daze, me

"My First Friend"

You were my first friend.

Your name - Helen.

One from a childhood full of Helens,

and Karens, and Claires (Clairs, Clares) -

and Lisas and Sarahs, and Michelles.


Your family lived next-door to mine,

and we would run around in each other's homes

in our little dungarees.


Then your parents took you,

and your little brother, away.

They rented out the house,

but sometimes, it would remain empty for months.

We would drop sweet papers and lolly sticks

down the gap between the fence and the shed.

Then Nicola-from-across-the-road

taught me to use

your shed as a toilet.

She said that she had your parents' permission -

but yes, I did kind of suspect...

I think that I only did it once.

I didn't really want to.


I wasn't allowed to keep in touch.

To send letters across the various

continents cost far too much,

so my parents said.

Jo and Nicola did stay in touch.

They were allowed.


When you finally came back,

years later, you had another

little brother,

who had been born abroad -

and you got along well with

Jo and Nicola,

but you weren't really interested

in me any more.

People move on, apparently -

but yet, I didn't. You did.

"Hopscotch and Cut Grass"

black tarmac alleyway

hopscotch days

a neighbourhood full

of broken tiles and bricks

and the constant temptation of chalk


constructing "houses" and dreams

from piles of cut grass

learning to be grateful for

"no hay fever"


a childhood - a lifetime -

of "forever and ever" friendships

that ultimately

would never

could never

did never

last