Schrödinger’s Cat

Sometimes I’m like that cat
Alone in the box. 
Am I alive
Or am I dead. 
Waiting for somebody, anybody
To open the box,
To interact
And look inside. 


What if I’m dead?
That wouldn’t be the best.
Or would it?
No more mystery
And I’d be out of the box.
Somebody would know. 
Therefore my existence,
Even in death,
Would be validated. 


What if they look inside
And I’m alive?
That would be good - 
Wouldn’t it?
I’d be able to talk to someone.
I’d be out of the box.
It would be nice -
As long as I had the choice
To get back in the box
Whenever I needed to. 

Awkward Words

As politicians moisten their lips
And prepare periodic messages
To chasten questioners. 
Their febrile speeches leave wanting 
Those with open eyes. 
And merely catapult words not actions 
Into gaping political holes. 
Tearing sanguine thoughts
From confused minds. 
Leaving strong perceptions flaccid
And hearts to hang pendulous -
Broken and deceived. 
When all that is required
From these pouting lips
Is some truth to hold on to 
In these times of strife. 

Ohm

Crossings

Reality

Harsh realities crash in
And like bitter memories do
They change us
Maybe even remove
Any sense of sensibility
And we find ourselves
In empty shopping malls
Searching for toilet paper
And pasta that isn’t wholegrain.
Panicked and broken
We return to our homes
Switch on the radio or tv
And listen to the latest news –
How many have succumbed
How many new cases
When will toilet paper
Be back on the shelves.
Maybe some of us
Reread Tolkien’s
Lord of the Rings
Or all of our Harry Potter novels
While we snack on chocolate
Left over from Christmas
And drink tea
Flavoured with honey
And play board games
And wonder if things
Will ever be the same.

In case of emergency

The Blizzard

Across a Surreal landscape
White defeats the green
Black naked branches
Reach towards low slung clouds
As snow flurries lash
Exposed skin on cheerful faces
We shelter in each other’s warmth
And conversations of sunshine
Promoted by
Wine, good gin and pizza.

The road out.

Fish Bones

I cast my mind about
Searching for just one
Peaceful memory
One image to still
A consciousness in turmoil.
Befuddled thoughts of anger arise
Failed friendships revived
Lost loves sought
Missed opportunities revisited
All conspire to withhold rest. 


Like a fish bone
Stuck in my throat
At Friday night dinner
I am unable to swallow.
To clear the way
I twist sheets
And toss my pillow.
Finally darkness takes me
Into troubled sleep
Only to be disturbed moments later
By a relentless alarm

Bury Me

Bury me softly
In words of love
Sweet caresses
And butterfly kisses


Hold me gently
In arms as tender
As angels wings
And soft summer breezes


See me openly
With your eyes so deep
Look into the very depths 
Of my aching soul


Remember me
In carefree dreams
And quiet coffee breaks
In seaside cafes


Bury me in memories
Away from the ravages
Of the thief
We know as time

Trust

Hidden behind backyard deals
And covered with words
The whisper of truth
Is seldom spoken aloud


And while his land burned
And he worshipped his false gods
It was his people who stood
In sackcloth and ashes


Once a man of promise
Indeed of many promises
He failed to deliver
And so lost our trust


Can trust be restored
Do words still hold value
Once they have been used
In lies and deception


The murmur is building
Maybe the whisper
Once buried in rhetoric
Is to be shouted at last


As we the people
Speak for this land and its inhabitants
And demand more
Than just ashes and promises

Drifting

Alone I drift
Through a life of change
Seeking no specific answers
Reacting only when necessary. 

The constant flow of time
Sometimes quicker
Other times painfully slow
Marks my passage. 

Sometime I drift
In thoughts
And dreams

Sometimes I drift
In simple black and white
And then in colour

Sometimes I drift
In meditation
and sometimes in confusion

Sometimes I drift
On clouds
Of ecstasy and pain

Sometimes I drift
And build
Fantastic structures

Sometimes I drift
Alone
And at peace

Sometimes I drift
In ideas
Of transcendence

Sometimes I just drift