My music teacher says

Music is the perfect combination of notes.

I have reached for perfection but missed;

And on the fringes of perfection, I found beauty.

But my teachers frown on this beauty I have found-

They want me in the image of John, the class prefect.

The orchestra instruments in our music studio

Are mostly broken.

The piano is missing a tooth

Like the lonely diastema that sits perfectly

Between Chioma’s teeth trying 

To wreak Havoc on her smile.

I find her beautiful still,

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H..H.. HANDICAP 

Walking ..walking..

Asleep in a hot summer dream

Thinking..looking 

At a smile beam

A flower in my heart what does it mean

In the night through the serpent bike lane

Trees whispering around in my ears

A moon in my eyes as a gleam¹

I love deep poetry she said and your rhyme 

First night love, the second could never seem

It hasn't always been there

that proud empty chair.

It was once by the fireplace

and twice by the stairs.

It's seen many changes

down through the years, 

life changing moments

and days full of tears.

My grandfather told me

it was one of a pair, 

he bought long ago

at a bright summer fair.

I can still see my Gran

sitting right there,

sitting and knitting

in that now empty chair.

It was often the centre 

where life would rehearse,

father did talk

Summer has come to a quiet end,

With the blazing hot sun over us,

Days of sunshine and some rain

And now, the fall begins.

Trees that was once green

Now turned various colors of gold.

And there is cool winds blowing 

Like a canvas painted and seen.

The cool weather  delays autumn's stop over,

Just a few months or so,

And when the time  comes,

It would come.

And now autumn becomes winter, 

And winter into spring,

And winter into spring,

You are my Pandora’s Box.

In my mind I am five again, sitting beside you

and wondering at your face.  I know nothing

of the man that you are, only that you are my father

and that I am happy to be near you.

I am forty and my mother tells me how

every day would start in a bottle.

My five and forty selves can’t imagine this

is you.  My five and forty selves want something more

from this icon you have become. This image