him

his favourite colours were white and red
he liked simple things
he liked to wear red shoes and watch
their white footsteps in the snow

he had a little white dog
who looked like and lamb
and was lost in the scenery
if it were not for his little black nose

he liked quiet places
and to watch the silent movement of snow fall
he liked love
he liked to see love in everything
like giving snowflakes hearts...
imagining a heart in the middle of every one as it fell
tiny, but shinning

he liked to be lazy
he liked staying in bed all day
and to return to he bed quickly enough
that it was still gently warm
in the place where he had been laying

cherries

(poem about an old lady i saw standing at the bus stop)

like a leaf she was blowing
in her thick purple woolen coat
waiting by the side of the road, in the sunshine
her feet touching the floor
with the same conviction
as the final few leaves
who hold to the branches of trees
in late autumn

as the bus arrives
she holds out a hand clutching
a red and white poker spotted handkerchief
which blew itself in the wind
and as the bus pulls over
she is imagining being young
and collecting cheeries from trees
with her red and white poker spotted handkerichief tied to her wrist
and blowing itself gently in the breeze

those days

(about childhood)

people often ask children what their favourite food is,
especially when they were as skinny as me.
milk-white hair and a little tooth-pick body

'what is your favourite food?' they would ask
'pancakes' i would reply
'and also, corn on the cob'
and does it have to be on the cob? they would ask
'yes' i would answer and i would wonder how it could be corn on the cob if it wasnt on the cob.

strange i thought, and would get on with turning myself upside down and the right way round til it was time for bed

tall glasses

(memory of holidays)

it had hard marble floors stretching
they were speckled grey
and were clean

the shower curtain in the bathroom
had a dark blue siluette
of a naked women carrying flowers
it was lovley

there was sand in the bath
we used to bagsie showers on our way home
from family days of the beach
and sitting in the back of the car we would shout
"me first for the shower", "me second"
... a ritual, did we really care?

palm trees swayed softly in warm air
cactie held water for drinking later
peoples skin shone of sunshine

the rubbish stunk but it didnt seem to smell bad
the train came by lazily
people siestered gently
while the town closed down for the afternoon
like a broken train, not even at its' station

people drank from long tall glasses in the evenings
tall glasses filled to the top with ice and rum
rum poured in without measuring
and drank late into unmeasured warm, long, spanish, summer evenings.