A very nice poem to read and you know Allie sometimes
it is a treat to just read something simply nice.
I recommend Sylvia Plath to you.

About that Angel

It was like glass, the river I mean. Sorry I'€™ll go back to the beginning.
I was walking into Town along the riverside path. No I'€™ll go right
back to the beginning. I mean when I got made an Angel. Yes like
the one in my poem. Yes I know you don'€™t believe me. I said that in
the poem and i'€™m sorry for swearing at you all, but its not easy being
an Angel.

It'€™s strange how it happens. I mean I'€™m retired, good Pension, having
the second childhood and all that and chasing grannies to see how
many I can screw. So what do I want with all this bloody grief?

Oh yes, he laid it right on me, said he knew I was feeling "� purposeless,"�
and looking for something to do like, so he had a job for me.
Unbefuckinglievable, yes exactly my thoughts. Me a Goddam Angel.
I thought he was taking the piss, but then when you think about it he'€™s
always doing things like that. Well what can you say? You can'€™t tell him to
eff off can you, no, you can'€™t, and neither could I.

Where does he get these ideas from I mean the Countries swarming
with people with degrees in "medieval needlework," and what not , how
can he pick on the likes of... No he says I'€™m perfect and I'€™ve had all the
training. Training, what bloody training?

He says I'€™ve been training all my life to be a cold hearted son of a *****,
and that's what was needed.
I asked him if I got any special powers to help me? He says i was going
to be an Angel not Harry Potter and his wand. I had to engineer it so they
sorted themselves out, and no magic tricks. Anyway he said, he didn'€™t know
any."€

I always thought nice guys would make the best Angels but he said "€œno they
burn out too easily and don'€™t get the job done."€
I was still worried so he said, "€œ I was such a silly bastard that he would let
me fall in love with the first woman that needed sorting out, and that
frankly they needed me like a hole in the head, but it would teach me the
final lesson when they dumped me.€ He also said that "if he wasn'€™t so
short staffed at the moment he wouldn'€™t bother with all of this mullarky and
training.

He pointed out all the "€œon the job "€œ training I'€™d had, so to speak.
Like all those young lasses I humped and didn'€™t give a **** for. Well he
says,"€ that's how you'€™ve got to be now. be aloof like."€ Aloof , my *** how
can you do that? He says that's how I was with those lasses so he'€™s not
asking me to do something I'€™d not done before.

What could I say especially when he said that "€œthis time, me being a ****,
would be for their own good."€
He could see that I was still worried, and he said, "€œ Now don'€™t worry as he
might be being a bit harsh,"€ "€œ I'€™ll tell you you what,"€ he said, "€œI'€™ll only let you
see their pain, so that you can emphasise with them but you wont feel it,
or care, So don'€™t try to top yourself when the going gets tough, because
we don'€™t like queue jumpers here. Crying is a no, no too."€

The riverside path? Well I usually walk straight into town but I decided to
stop for a coffee in the quayside cafe. There was this lass, a woman actually,
drinking wine and she was crying. The Cathedral clock struck eleven and I
thought "��Here we go again."��



P.S read the poem , An Angel

The Anniversary

I didn'��t know, it was never meant. The
Chaos coming, I couldn'��t have dreamt.

I might have known and should have
Guessed.
My choice of dates was not the best.

My Mother warned me, told me so.
Dad said "�� I hope you know."��

We went ahead, made our bed.
Too late, his fate, learned my erstwhile Mate.
I should Have changed that Wedding date.
Friday the Thirteenth!

Who am I

Maybe the gentle breeze, a zephyr, carrying the smell of wood smoke
On a winter'��s morn. The whisper of tyres on a distant road.

Could I be the early morning sun warming your face, or the rush of melt
water tumbling down a mountain stream.

It has been said that I'��m the great blue sky echoing with the greeting
Cries of aerial hunters, which gladden your ears, bringing a smile to
Your lips and lights to your eyes.

Perhaps that distant, indistinct figure who raises a friendly hand as we,
Ploughing our lonely furrow, pass like ships at sea.

That little taste of red, enjoyed while being fascinated by the mesmeric
Dancing flames of a log fire, in a Grande Maison. Ah, "��La belle..."��

I may not be any of these things but if I can join you in a conspiratorial
Feeling of oneness, tranquility and exhilaration, this is who I would be.

For Barbara

A good friend of mine passed away as they say. Actually
It was death that took my friend, which ain'��t a crime as far
as far as I know, but it felt like one to me.

I'��ll remember my friend in their "�� Heyday, "�� which means
most of their life, and I think i'��ll keep it that way. That smiling
face, that infectious joy.

Someone said, "�� You must be sad when you think of your
friend. "��
I said, "�� No, I can'��t remember anything sad about Barbara'��s
life, except her going away. "��

Thank you, got the T shirt but survived it all

Grace

It'��s a sad sight to see a lone drinker on a
Wintry weekday night. A tale to tell no doubt,
But no one to listen. The empty bar, or faded
Four walls, lost dreams. No illusions to lean on

Glad former friends can'��t See him. His hell
Is coming face to face with his life, no place to
Hide, displaced, he faces the truth, in what can
Become a dark and lonely empty place, his very
Being.

Still time will pass and sleep will claim him.
A weary soul comes alive, grace and respite given.
Maybe sunlight will bring new hope, yes, lets hope
For that.

The Passing

A good friend of mine passed away as they say. Actually
It was death that took my friend, which ain't a crime as far
as i'��m concerned.

I'��ll remember my friend in their ��" Heyday "�� which means
most of their life, and I think i'��ll keep it that way.

Someone said I must be sad when I think of my friend.
I said, "�� I don'��t remember anything sad about my friend
when I think of them. "��

Shadow

There are parts of this madness that pretend to be people.
The grasping , the greed, the need to have. They'��d even
take your breath away if they could, and sometimes they do.

They trumpet their triumphs with great bellows. Do they actually
see the likes of us. Are they part of the same race. Do they
know we exist or are we just vague wind blown shadows
flickering on a wall of their consciousness?

Here they are

Still the spirit in me still burned. Beaten I had
Been but not defeated. The fates laughed as
They do.
Me? �� I put a smile on it all. ��

I no expert but I do think it's best to write what you feel.


This is the last Paragraph of one of my poems. It helped
me to write these words, and take my own advice

Oh Bollocks

This man Looks Towards You

Well rend and tear, gnash and wail for this man
Dares to look towards you!
Not by stealth do I come, but with a presence,
Without arrogance or pride, and a Compelling
sense of purpose.

I have taken the hurt but bear my sadness with
Grace and humour, for they speak and tell of
Many things to those who have eyes to see.
Now gently beats this heart of mine for now I
Am Tranquil.

Banishing the past from devouring the future my
Hope returned. For in truth I had lost my way, and
Beyond reach of all and everything, yet despite this,
Redeemed by a woman.

An Angel

Cut me and I don'��t bleed.
Love me and I don'��t care.
Leave me and I care even
less.
Curse me, who gives a tinker'��s cuss,
I'��m only paying off my debt?

Cry for me? Yes do that, I can'��t,
it ain'��t allowed.
I'��m only an Angel doing my job.

Of course I know you don'��t f***ing
believe me.

Nice, as always

Time

Last night I fell asleep.
This morning I arose awake.

The daily dally, just killing time,
Spending minutes that aren'��t mine.

A silent assassin without any fuss
Quietly, insidiously, killing us!

I thought I was where I wanted to be, only
To find I was in the wrong place. Each day
A dying,
Everyone a waste of a life.

Hopes and dreams flickered out touching the
Lives of others, painfully I learned to get out of
A life,
When it was not the place to be.

Life raced by a pace. Dogs barked at wolves as
I passed. I howled at the moon, I paused, did
Not dwell,
Hardly broke my stride.

I had tracked those dreams across a lifetime,
Without learning to, or wanting to live that life.
Never knew
How to love or be loved.

I knew there was no going back, and unable
To outrun the thoughts in my head, the blush
Of dawn
Shattered my illusions.

The knowing always knew the race was run,
And the sadness and anguish of that folly
Welled up,
Glistening In my eyes.

Still the spirit in me still burned. Beaten I had
Been but not defeated. The fates laughed as
They do.
Me? �� "I put a smile on it all." ��

Once a little boy

Cut me and I don'��t bleed.
Love me and I don'��t care.
Leave me and I care even
less.
Beg of me and I don'��t hear.
Cry for me...? Yes do that,
I can'��t.
What did they do to me, how
am I like this?

I have just learned to check what I write or am (Doing) more closely.

Like your poems a lot

The Searcher

There is a place I'��m looking for, somewhere
I know I belong.
Not that I'��ve forgotten, you understand, just
can'��t remember where.

I know I'��m going to find it, in good time or
the next.
I'��m always looking around me, perhaps to catch
that fleeting glimpse.

Maybe I'��ll just go wandering along this stoney
winding track,
It's known I'��m trying to get there, and it feels as
If I'��m close.

The past is not my future, and I know there'��s no
going back.
Perhaps I will stand and mark my ground, ease my
aching memories

Wanted to tell them how I felt, put things right so
to speak,.
but I think I'��ll just keep moving and hope to pay my
debt

But maybe before I do, i'll take that little rest and
try to
remember, the way I'��ve always known.