Talking.

You don’t notice the world when you’re talking.

When you remember the scene, you remember everything:

The temperature of the wind, the sounds of laughter,

The pebbles parting beneath your feet.

And parts in-between you paint into view,

Like the camera angles that would have captured you best,

The lingering shot on the moment they looked at you,

The song that should have been playing, just audible enough.

But at the time you lose yourself to the small things that you say;

The things that make you happy just being there.

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The Simple Things

The simple things I long for

Like blue skies over cable cars

Only happen in the movies

Littered with forgotten stars.

 

Warm fires on winter days

Romances to light the summer sun

Seem so close to touch

Yet remain hidden when the day is done.

 

The good life in the streets

People smiling, birds in the trees

Are locked outside my door

Maybe waiting there for me.

 

But the simple things I long for

Come from technicolour stories;

The right lines to the saddest songs

And people chasing down memories.

Castle on a Hill

A lord lived there once. The floors remain;

A high, proud place. It still stands in parts,

On a hill in the midst of a field

Where the grass is cold and dull.

This lonely tower, a wreck that bore

Storm after storm, still holds within the life

Of someone lost to time. Someone who once listened

To the singing birds in the near-by forest –

The same songs that I heard not long ago.

One Story.

We hold each other in the arms of divorce

I tried to keep it together but used too much force;

And before I knew it we had made up our minds

And I was left staring at the walls.

 

We had seen the bombs fall and fall again

It didn’t concern us as much as the autumn rain,

When we were locked inside with memories

But neither of us saw them quite the same.

 

It was in the cold light of day we fell to the floor,

We knew we couldn’t fight together anymore;

All the empires that we conquered we watched fall

In the glow of the early morning news.

I traced Rome from your fingers to your toes,

But what about a person can you truly know?

Just the street signs and the ruins you let go

Because you realised they had no use.

 

I got up and followed you to the door

Hoping you’d turn around and say you weren’t sure;

I couldn’t tell if this was the last minute we’d have

I just knew we’d remember the ones that came before.

Alex Chilton’s Song

Just for a moment,

A shadow that lay over your life lifted,

And all that could be seen in your dark eyes

Was sincerity, insecurity,

The need to be loved and happy.

The cold plague that held at you,

And the voices that tried to remind you

Of the troubles of your years,

All fell to silence,

And just for a moment

You found that the simplest words would do.

Uni Years

In the years of learning and city freedom

The breeze always seemed blue.

My feet sprang from the Victorian pavement

And my eye caught the beauty of buildings,

Fallen leaves, a car pausing to let a passer by

Cross the road. I walked through art

Like Van Goughs whirling night,

And left my thoughts to run with words,

Words to play in the paradises of my creation.

I had some to share it with, and some I wish were there.

But it was never more-easy than when I walked

Through the days when I knew I was part of the rhythm

Of everything.

Sunday Afternoon

On this afternoon the city exhaled and

Allowed the blue to linger far beyond the

Usual yellowing of the deep night. There were

Streams of people all passing me by, going

In the opposite direction like the pale wisps

Of clouds that swam above me. I walked like a

Dance, haphazard and unbound and people

Had already started getting drunk. Some complained,

Some were Dickensian in cold hotel doorways –

Women like swans with their heads bowed

Trying to get from A to B. All this in artifice

And I hear the unrestrained hum of evening life

Being lived perfectly by so many.