I grew tired of the fake
Likes hearts smiles
reminded me of Valentine
what truths discussions
shared...Nothing
three words a day
Is this living
a friendship
conversation
No

I am at that window
willing too live as I
once had done
In real
writing real letters
talking to a voice
on the phone
(no one has time
too busy checking
their mail...)

thank god for buttons
to delete accounts
delete works

My faith was never a beacon of light
more of a flickering candle at night.
My Father’s beliefs were always strong
perhaps somehow I got it all wrong.
In spite of those hymns I love to sing
for me it’s more a borderline thing.

But I see things in a different way
I don’t spend time praying each day.
For me God’s love is practical too
shared with others in the things we do.
Through help we give to those in need
whoever they are, whatever their creed.

Come my boy,
Sit down,
I’ll tell you about my time,
My time in my old town,
Which I hope is doing well,
I passed and left long ago,
Keeping the comedy alive,
For you see there was nothing grand about my time,
But it was a charming time,
A warm time,
All we had then were jokes,
All we had were our mountains,
Mountains full of pride,
Which stood so tall,

It was a charming time,
Difficult nonetheless,
For you see,
My beloved lost her mind,
And it was difficult for me,

I'll remember you as the man who rise
from humble beginnings to represent a nation's pride.
You were the unrelenting natural born leader
who defended our law in spite of foreign pressure.

You always place your country before yourself
through years of services, playing many roles
that earned the respect of everyone in the country.
Among them are the two years of your presidency.

From a Lawyer and Poet

Legality and poetry
are two different things
when you post a snap or poem
'tis yours,
yes
as time is recorded

but you also permit it
for sharing and commenting
see the guy coming
with cement behind
he will cement poetry
with legality
both will solidify into one bulk
so don't sulk

poetry is simple emotion
legal guys
work is to exploit
well up tears
so the jury may feel
how hard up may
one may have been

Tuesday
Im still in Tuesday...

Windscale gardens are reading hot
below the high box chimney top
equipped the bomb to join
the race
Uranium oxide
saving face
and cesium too
strontium 90
particles spew

in 57' they stopped
the two
no more toxicity
too the blue

...

Raining
tapping on the tin
the dark wing of
eve falls fast
like a hush
thankful the windows
only on the east side
went
far enough away
from the detonation
that nothing burned
either...but
the wind
was blowing
and not in the
good way

In cosy Western Camelot
(on humankind , another blot)
seems Aylan's been remembered, not.
The world forgot. The world forgot.

So now we have another sign.
Another icon for our time.
He's only five, concealed in grime.
He could be mine. He could be mine.

I watch him slowly wipe his brow
then stare, confused it seems, as how
his hands are dirty, bloodied now.
My head I bow. My head I bow.

At the Tartan Bonnet
next to the Smithy’s stall,
a picture labelled monster
is hanging on the wall.

The photograph is fuzzy,
looks like a bunch of tyres,
held to a piece of deadwood
by nails and string, or wires.

The locals say that tourists
are gullible, rich fools,
that no sign has been noted
by scientific tools.

The view over the water
is really rather good;
another compensation
is finest ale and food.