Beers in the Afternoon

Dusty old window frame,
Painted purple years ago.
Chipped.
You would like it here.
Beers in the afternoon
Always seemed ok with you.

Supping our pints
Your tobacco on the table.
Golden Virginia -
Rolled in it's funny way.
Lighter?
Inhale, exhale and another sip.

Heavenly folk music ripples
Through the bar, up the corridor.
We could be anywhere,
Our mutual loathing forgotten.
This place an amnesty
To what went before.

Orchestra Seats

Saw that film "Fauteuils d'orchestre".
Was wonderful.
Made me think of you.
Looked for you in every scene,
Hopin' to see your face.
Woman smokin' under the street light.
That you in the Bar des Theatre eatin'?
No.
Listenin' to the beautiful piano sonnata?
Maybe.
As the pianist tore off his shirt did you gasp?
I did.
Does that happen at a concert?
Guess, well, my imagination runs wild.
Just seein' Paris an' thinkin' of you,
Even in movies.

Dear existential angst...

I know it can feel despairing at times to feel as we do and very lonely but I am glad for it at the end. It is what separates and defines us as people. Some see it as "troubled people" and skim over us, categorising us as lost souls. We are all lost. WE just like to pinch ourselves and ask, WHY? Why is there a universe? Is there another universe? Is there a god? What is science... How can i articulate every murmur of my heart and translate from the record of my brain through a needle to the speaker of this already roaringly loud world! How??

How? We find people like ourselves. like me and you. We read books. Each author instils a part of themselves inside those pages. When we open the cover we are greeting the writer. All those emotions poured into each page for us. People like me and you who need help and guidance. Jack Kerouac is talking to me and you! He knows how it feels and we explore it together and that's how we stay sane!

Long, Lost Summers

With a face so fair just a girl
Will become more than a woman
And no doom shall peril you in time.
But happiness will flow from springs deep;
Of which you shall idle by.
In long, lost summers -
Dreaming amongst the wild flowers
All animals shall surround you
And look on you with admiration.

French Shutters

The pitch black of sleep
In a sealed charcoal room.
A restful darkened tomb
Where slumber runs deep

Time has lost its place -
The sun has not been revealed
Until the shutter is peeled -
Sleeping in a case.

A crypt for dreaming
You can not see your hand
Whilst stumbling as you stand
Through cold, grey scheming.