Am I so hard to love

Am I so hard to love?

Do I ask too much of one heart

to unpack its cold, folded wings

and air them in the warm sun

with another?

Am I so hard to love

that kisses meant for lips

skim off my wet cheeks as flint

skips across an ever-widening ocean?

Am I so hard to love

now my family have gone?

There must be a surplus.

A place where love pools

so lovers can sink

or swim together.

Spring

                         

There’s no going back

For rising sap

committed to engorging bulbs

bursting buds, fixing shrubs and showy plants

with enduring photogenic smiles

before the pressure falls.

This drip fed operation

teems behind closed doors,

The press release reads

NATURE – CALM AS A LUNAR SEA.

Blackbirds sing without scripts

ad-libbing ancient hymns

and one-hit wonders

to suit the more discerning dawn

Sadly, our subtle lives

require more time

to take in mother nature’s elemental cues,

her obligation’s steeped in chaos

like a frilly-knicker-pink azalea’s

bold and brazen hues.

But when she’s forced to make the call

we act like well-intentioned understudies

doing Lear.

We know the lines

and re-rehearse

but have no clue

To why on earth we’re here.

On Windy Days

On windy days
the playground pitches
like a tilted sea
and kids hang on for dear life

On windy days
Children skip about the place,
their coats unzipped for that one gust
while gravity takes a nap

On windy days
teachers band together
like nervous referees,
blowing tired whistles

while ninety fledgling fighters
gleefully ignore them.

The Schizophrenic's Garden

In the Schizophrenics Garden

Roses are ripped from the soil

And with outstretched hands

Given to Staff

In lieu of Parents

In the Schizophrenics Garden

Plastic chairs are strewn like toys

Around a trashed bedroom

Seconds before section

In the Schizophrenics Garden

Delusions and memory

Are indistinguishable

From tired lawns and paths

In the Schizophrenics Garden

Weeds are relatives who rarely visit

Unless a flower is weak or dying

In the schizophrenics Garden

A Wisteria tendril bounces on a lip of air

Like a cliff diver arching his spine

Seconds before the leap into space