RADIO SUM

You were sort of Radio 3
And I was Radio 1
Now we're much more
Radio 4 we make
The perfect sum.

A YEN FOR MY LOVE (title suggested by Henry Normal)

If love was currency 

Would euro to my shore?

Could I take you to dinar?

Should I pound on your door?

A peso the action

A lira light spank

Lek me be your lover

I'm not often this franc.

IN LIEU OF A HALLMARK CARD

We've never exchanged forced gifts
We've never sent each other cards
Three decades later and three kids
Our story still has its stars.

THE SPACE BETWEEN

It's not the tick and the tock

              It's the way that you fill
Of               
              The
The
              Space
Clock
              Between

29.12.19

A festive fog clears to reveal a Sunday. Countdown to a new decade reaches main engine ignition stage. A 10 year mission to explore the 2020's. The years shoot by at the speed of delight, leaving some behind. As we head to the future, light from the stars shines from the past.

26.12.19

I wake to empty boxes on Boxing Day. The fridge, full up on sheets of tin-foil, the table dressed for a party that's finished. Bin-bags of wrapping paper might blow down the street like urban, Crimbo tumbleweed. All is calm. All is not yet bright. Batteries on recharge.
Breathe.

18.12.19

I wake to a Wednesday in my street.
21st century cars cough cleanly into life
20th century tarmac has lost its smell
19th century homes have kept their secrets
18th century hills have been lost from view
500million year old slate covers my roof.
I'm nearer that era in bed.

The Gift of the Present

I see the world as a turning, whirling,
Clunking, steampunking,
Gift machine.
Not every gift is great,
But returns are not possible,
And being philosophical,
Each gift an unwrapped experience.
And isn't that life,
A pile of presents
To look back on?
If only I knew
Who sent them.

Living Rock

We must become our dads.
It's written in our genes
Upon the elasticated waist of time.
Our children are our near-rhymes;
Our sons and daughters,
Our sins of laughter,
An ancient echo alive in a river
Cutting through a canyon,
Carving a wasteland
From living rock.

Blank Page

The Sun is an Etch a Sketch
(for those of a certain age)
Wiping clean the Night's work
And leaving all a blank page