SNOWMAN

You caught me by the emotions today
as I glanced out through the window
and glimpsed your little forlorn form
while sipping my chilled Bordeau.

Your wistful eyes seemed to cry
"Oh please let me in.
It's cold out here and I'm all alone,
and it's so inviting within!"

Well I stared at you as though entranced
and felt the winter's freeze
touch me in a powerful way
that filled me with unease.

As you stood there looking in,
it seemed my heart would break.
Compelling desire to bring you in
overwhelmed me like an ache.

Oh how I longed to be your friend
and see you wined and dined.
But I knew I would be killing you,
so had to be cruel to be kind.

PSYCHEDELIA

Yesterday we touched the sky,
you and I flying high
in '76, hot July:
heavy metal lullaby
that faded into gentle sigh.

Riding the wings of Dragon flight
to rainbow castle of infinite height.
Colours, colours, blinding bright,
psychedelic fluttering kite.
Hanging on to string of light.

Finding the eye in the sky
that has the power to stupefy
and all our senses multiply.
We're phasing into lasuli
to it's azure core occupy.

Blue planet spinning fast.
There is no future and no past,
only moonbeams racing past.
Stepping onto one at last,
we're caught in cataclysmic blast.

Falling, falling, back to earth,
overwhelmed by sense of dearth:
craving something like rebirth
in fine white powder of great worth.
Relentless is addiction's curse.

THE PORTER

"OK if I ask you something?"
Hospital porter from behind my head.
"What is the meaning of human life?"
My post-op wheelchair rattled along.

"Unfulfilled dreams and then we're gone."
We stopped at the ward reception desk,
then man in grey with compassionate glance
handed me a hard back book, Give Happiness a Chance.

I skimmed over it's glossy back cover,
trying hard to focus anesthetized eyes.
I can't remember what it said.
His counselling was wasted on my befuddled mind,

but I hadn't the heart to tell him.
With the heavily-burdened countenance of a confession priest,
he wandered off to rescue another confused Soul...
in the direction of the hospital morgue. 

BLANCHE

"Blanche is here!" My mother's voice was harsh
with animosity (and secret envy!). I rushed to the front door.
"Love you, Auntie!" I enthused, and threw myself into her arms
while she hugged me back. Her exotic perfume
enveloped me as I stood back and admired her hourglass figure
in total awe. She wasn't just attractive, she was so beautiful:
long pale-gold hair and eyes the colour of a summer meadow.
She dressed, walked and spoke like a movie star
and smiled a lot and wore a stunning shade of pink lipstick.
But, most of all, she was so alive, so vibrant.
And she always gave me pocket money and chocolate
and something even more precious to a little girl -
the gift of aspiration. To grow up in her image
and be just like her was all I ever wanted.
But, oh how my mother resented it, that deep connection
between the two of us. It appeared to be an affront
to her conservative sensibilities that I should deeply love someone
so wild and free, so unlike anyone else I'd ever known.
"She is a bad influence," my mother would grumble disapprovingly,
"All those boyfriends, all that makeup!"

And yet...
I am who I am because of her:
her Spirit lives on in the green of my eyes
and her poetry in the depths of my Soul.