Tag Archives: Valentines Day

Valentines Day, 2020

Reality feels so damn disappointing.
A scratch on a pristine car.
The difference between black,
and everything in-between.
Inhabitants of earth take this very badly.
Take it to the razors edge, sometimes.
Come play with sticks and
throw them in the stream.
Hurl with all your might.
And watch them float away.
Happy Valentines Day,
is what I meant to say.


Valentines Day, 2014

Cold Camden Town,
basement kitchen.
Breath freezing.
Steam rising,
from a coffee cup.

I climb the stairs
of my broken-down house.
Hair disheveled.
Face unshaven.
Legs stiff and unyielding.

The heater has taken
that chill from my room.
Plastic window covering,
crinkles.
Cars move outside.

I place a twelve inch
on the turntable.
Forget Me Nots,
by Patrice Rushen.
It’s for you.


St Valentine’s Eve

Till I come tomorrow
will you forgive,
absolve and pardon
my indirection.
My feet of clay,
a blundering about
and ruining most
of yesterday.
What poor timing
on the eve, of
St Valentine’s day.
Not quite a massacre,
more the bumbling
of an ineffective fool.


Valentines Day, 2014

Cold Camden Town,
basement kitchen.
Breath freezing.
Steam rising,

from a coffee cup.

I climb the stairs
of my broken-down house.
Hair disheveled.
Face unshaven.
Legs stiff and unyielding.

The heater has taken

that chill from my room.
Plastic window covering,
crinkles.
Cars move outside.

I place a twelve inch
on the turntable.

Forget Me Nots,

by Patrice Rushen.
It’s for you.


Valentines Day, 2014

A blast from the past !

Cold Camden Town,
Basement kitchen.
Breath freezing.
Steam rising,
From a coffee cup.

I climb the stairs
Of my broken-down house.
Hair dishevelled.
Face unshaven.
Legs stiff and unyielding.

The heater has taken
That chill from my room.
Plastic window covering,
Crinkles.
Cars move outside.

I place a twelve inch
On the turntable.
Forget Me Nots,
By Patrice Rushen.
It’s for you.

 


Valentines Day, 2014

Cold Camden Town,
Basement kitchen.
Breath freezing.
Steam rising,
From a coffee cup.

I climb the stairs
Of my broken-down house.
Hair dishevelled.
Face unshaven.
Legs stiff and unyielding.

The heater has taken
That chill from my room.
Plastic window covering,
Crinkles.
Cars move outside.

I place a twelve inch
On the turntable.
Forget Me Nots,
By Patrice Rushen.
It’s for you.