BASELESS HOPE.

January, I tread so warily.
February, closing uneasily.
March, I see you swaying like graceful larch.
April, the final step in this Quadrille

May, from my clumsy rush you skip away.
June, leaving me a hopeless lovelorn loon.
July, learning nothing, just one more try.
August, sadly find that give up I must.

September, hope extinguished, no surviving ember.
October, alone, morose and sober.
November, what is there to remember?
December, just heartache to dismember.

As baseless hope will overide all pain,
Please let it be “January” again.

ON REFLECTION

Tripping here, flitting there,
Whilst I could but hover.
Floating free, gracefully,
She softly ebbed and flowed.

Tripping here, flitting there,
Lovely as no other.
As you can clearly tell,
I was trapped in her spell.

Tripping, flitting, floating free,
She broke my heart gracefully.

CIRCLE THE SQUARE

“We used to say
“we’d all be making songs
Or finding better words.”
These ideas never lasted long.”

We’d stood on the sand,
At the foot of the mountainous cliff.
A narrow circuitous road
curved its way slowly,
Climbing as it turned.

I’d said to her that
“The way is up along the road”
But she’d interrupted
that’s too slow for me and
Started to climb
A precipitous path.

I shouted for her to stop,
I warned her that,
“The air is growing thin,
Too many friends who tried,
Blown off the mountain
By this cruel wind.”

She laughed and cried out,
“Meet on the ledge,
We’re going to
Meet on the ledge
When my time is up,
I’m going to see
All my friends.”

I took the slower route
Soon realising that
I’d lost her forever,
In fact I gave up.
Accepting that I was made
To live on the Sand.

“Yet now I see, I’m all alone,
That’s the only way to be.
If we had our chance again
It would work for you and me.”

I so wanted to believe that,
Yet couldn’t. I grew old
But I didn’t forget her.
I’d scan the cliff face
I never saw her trace.

One day for no reason
I started to climb
Up the precipitous path.
At first the going was slow
Strangely, as I progressed
It got easier, soon
I was bounding
Like a mountain goat.

Just below its top
The path broadened
Jutting out over the drop.
It must be the ledge.

I heard her voice,it sang,
“Meet on the ledge,
We’re going to
Meet on the ledge.”

Why did I ever let her go?
Why could I not have taken risks?
Why do I still so want her?

The last hundred yards
Were arduous and treacherous.
They seemed to take forever.
When I finally got to the ledge,
She was nowhere to be seen.

I looked down to the sand
Where I glimpsed a young man
Not unlike I was at what
I imagined his age to be.

With him was a brunette.
She was teasing him
She turned and moved
Toward the cliff.

“If you really mean it,
It'll all come round again”.

I prayed to god
That this time
He would follow her.