Counsellor
professional, confidential
empathising, listening, caring
present, accountable, despondent, troubled
trusting, sharing, hoping
stuck, wounded
client

There she blows

The day is stifling heat
Humid,even here,to the touch
Excitement felt at the promise
Realistic, though, bet-hedging as ever
Eager for a sighting, full of hope
Scanning the twinkling seas
Humpback whale, oceanic mammoth
Each false sighting helps anticipate...
Behind us! goes the cry. We look, absorb
Launching, a balletic, fun-filled twirl
One, three, four - performance in macro
Whales breach, flukes splash, blowholes blow
Scenes of splendour, humbling memories

I’m so sorry it had to be this way
My intention was not to cause you pain
Perhaps we’ll feign again another day
I’m so sorry it had to be this way
But leaving is easier, as they say
Than being left, lost and wounded again
I’m so sorry it had to be this way
My intention was not to cause you pain

Tired of being tired

She’s tired of being tired
She doesn’t want to give in to
This core state of being
This anti-life she leads
But there’s nothing left
To keep her here
No more hope
This must
Stop

It doesn't get much worse than this
Unsmiling face and empty kiss
No solace here, my darkest hour
A stark moment when love turns sour

Peering into the abyss
It doesn't get much worse than this
A little death; this love was our
Brave new world, a call to power

Delicate, a brief Spring flower
Fading in my ivory tower
It doesn't get much worse than this
Ill-advised dreams fail in darkness

So here it is, my darkest hour
Nothing left now, hope's meek cower
My ending nears, an anti-bliss
It doesn't get much worse than this

Glorious, they said, aloud
Head held high, saluting, proud
A victory march, again
More lies broadcast by his pen
Reality disavowed

His job done, his public wowed
No silver lining, this cloud
One more End-of-Days omen
Glorious, they said

Take a look back at fields ploughed
With all that hindsight allowed
Think too what will happen
If we abstain once again
And clothe ourselves in that shroud
Glorious, they said

Words capturing feelings

Like drawing the Mona Lisa

With hopscotch chalk

On a gravel path

Whilst the model grimaces, coughs

And rearranges herself

Finally leaves, as clouds mask the sun,

Dances in the rain

And returns, soaked and uncooperative,

To scowl at the artist

And even then

Just as the outline form seems right

The rains wash eveything away

Other patterns form and reform

And the hapless artist

Can only watch

And drop is useless tools to the ground.