My love I hung
on a line,
out to dry.
To the bitter winds
of jealousy.
To the calm winds
of an embrace.
Shrivelled by the hot, scirocco
winds of passion.
Lava souls melting.
Lusted and lusting.
Wanted and wanting.
My love I hung
on a line,
in fear of
the black, polluted
dust of decay.
Of love no more
which no wind will stir.
Old Birdman sits and stares
Squinting in the sun
The sparrows eagerly await the moment
when he
Opens the white paper bag
placed upon his lap
They know him now
and his eating habits.
The bag rustles
He looks inside
No smile lights his face
as he takes out
the sandwich
Which he will share
They gather around his feet
never coming too close
awaiting the moment
he eats and drops the crumbs
He watches the pigeons on the grass
fed fat from passers-by
He hopes they stay where they are
and not chase his sparrows away.
It’s the twenty second, yesterday gone
No super volcano or atomic bomb
Someones’ calculation went astray
The world should have ended yesterday
Down in Yucatan in ages past
Predictions made a little too fast
A man, a chief with feathered hat band
Arms to the sky, numbers in sand
2-1 1-2 2-0-1-2
I’m still here, what about you?
Old, tall silver-sided Sycamore tree
Silhouette against the grey winter sky
Leaves fallen, now gone
No sign your summer ever existed
In this cold December air
No sign my summer ever existed
Gone. Another year passing.
The longing for spring is already upon me
![IMG_0715[1]](https://christopherfarley.net/wp-content/uploads/2012/12/img_07151.jpg?w=538&h=718)
I wandered listless but restless.
I walked in the shadows, defenceless.
I wandered thinking, without knowing.
My soul in pain, my self-doubt growing.
I lost my way, though the way was marked.
So I waited at the crossroads, wishing I’d asked
What do I do? How? What shall I give?
To find the way home; distant, elusive.
I’m not a poet, and I rarely rhyme but today is different.
______________________________________________
A harsh word slipped and fell today
Between two friends
No further words exchanged this day
No way to make amends
I hoped to catch a glance or maybe
The return of a friendly smile
Instead my day empty remained
My evening too, defiled
I walked over the broken earth
of a broken life
I swam through the stream clear,
a stream of tears
I fell twisted and scarred
into your arms, once again.
Under a yellow, sickening sky did I
Come from above, where once I
Led a strong legion, all powerful but I
Wanted more, much more so I
Employed temptation, persuasion for I
Used a woman to get at man and I
Have been ever present , beside you, I
Wanted followers too, however I
Misjudged your faith, I misjudged you.
Green; the leaves on the trees no longer fresh from spring.
Spring, now past. The grass beneath my bare feet in the morning dew.
Dew; a million tiny drops of water, my feet wet and cool in the morning.
Dawning, the sun is rising, to evaporate the dew. Grass turns brown.
A cup of tea
Yorkshire tea, aye
Will become a soup
If left to lie
If left to lie
Cool down, stagnate
No more my thirst
Shall it slake
On the balcony
It was left to lie
Whilst between jobs
Did I
Go to an fro
As a bee
And forget about
My cup of tea
My Words, My World 