Let You Be

If you need more, the car will show the way
On road we go or land not known to say
Land not known to say

Sit back and chill the seed is now a tree
The hills sweep low, a bell does ring for thee
A bell does ring for thee

We park not far, to walk the rest on grass
The wood has grown all green now hides the pass
Now hides the pass

A scent of sea or salt to sand and blue
We track a stream, you know it leads us through
Leads us through

On chalk our steps drift dust, to air and light
The house we know is dark and stands on white
Stands on white

A gate is done the beach at last in view
With thoughts we sit, no words I say to you
No words I say to you

No crowd will come, we share this space alone
No time is lost the rocks become your throne
Become your throne

We wave goodbye it’s time to let you be
I leave you here, the place you love found me
The place you love found me

Looks Like Sunshine

If the plug ever gets pulled
on the internet and the
world wide web collapses
into a silk thread mess

how will we tell the weather?
We’ll look out through our windows
there every morning
we’ll eye the sky

Everyone will learn about clouds again
understand what the hues of red
orange and purple mean
the breeze and the rain

the behaviour of birds
animals and insects
it’ll all become clear and we’ll
feel more connected than ever before

A Whole Lot of Rubbish Too

I looked through the albums
of the Beatles recently,
studied track listings
and listened
to unfamiliar tunes.

Most of the little known songs
are pretty seriously
mediocre, in comparison
to the ones known well.

It’s true of the Stones too,
when you look.
Bowie and ABBA.

In actual fact,
it’s true of nearly every band
or performer.
Or writer, poet, painter, actor,

There’s a whole lot more rubbish
out there they did,
than the good stuff.

This probably comes as no surprise
to you.

Who the Hell is a “Morning Person”?

Who the hell is a “morning person”?
Is it a trait passed down the line
through the genes?
They who wake up,
look fresh,

A character from folklore,
caught up –
bound in the bedclothes,
struggling free.
My eyes hurt by the light,
can’t read the time,
don’t know if I’m late or early.

Sway into walls
take rest against door frames,
battle my way to the bathroom –
an epic journey.

Stumble down the stairs.
Hate, that I didn’t clean the coffee pot
the day before.
Wash, rinse, prepare.
Stand and wait.

As soon as the caffeine hits,
life begins to slowly seep back.
A treatment of the symptom,
but not the cause.
Could I change?

What would I have to do
to become a “morning person”,
rather than the “morning person
from Hell”
I am.