Early, a witching hour.
The bridge looms out of the sea mist,
Throwing its shadow into the bay below.
Beyond, out to sea, iridescent water scintillates…
Passing cars string the span like fairy lights.
Decking a Christmas Tree.

A derelict house…
Is what we found…
But with love and dedication,
We have returned it,
To its bare essentials,
To reveal wood, stripped,
Sanded, quite austere,
Ready for adornment.
Yet, when I place a chair,
In an empty room,
Does it need a single item more?

Up with the lark,
And the boat skims
The surface of the water.
The sails blush,
Staining the water,
Reflecting back a happy smile.
Pink sails, pale blue morning.

Sun rising…
And the colour diffuses
Through low-level mist,
That clings to the ground,
Like a blanket.
And I feel like I’ve stepped
Into a tinted film noir…

As the sun sets,
The birds wing home,
And the heavy beat
Of their wings in flight,
Adds to my feeling of emptiness.
Beyond, the vast expanse of ocean
Reinforces a sense of separation,
Desolation,
Until you are returned to me.

Pushing my bike across the pier,
The sun sets on a busy day,
And I find myself trapped
In a symphony of pink, purple and blue,
A rhapsody of pink, purple and blue,
And I like it.

Early morning…
The sun slants through the trees
Like a waterfall of light.
Treading softly through
A carpet of wild flowers,
An explosion of scent
Creeps out from under each foot,
And softly colours the air.
This is Nature at its most glorious!

It has been raining here for most of the day,
Walk down the pavement, you’re hit by the spray,
The skies are lowering and desperately grey,
And still the trams keep running.

I’ve been holed up here in this coffee shop,
I’ll drink my espresso to the very last drop,
Waiting for this dreary rain to stop,
Watching the trams that are running.

I’m bored of my paper, bored of my life,
I’ll squeeze some more butter on the end of my knife,
I’ll go home quite soon and kiss and cuddle my wife,
By catching one of the trams that are running.

Come to think of it, they look really cosy,
And kind of quite cheerful and sort of peachy and rosy,
I think it’s definitely time for me to just mosey,
And climb on a tram that’s running…

Every one of these is mine,
It was a difficult birth,
But now I’m fine!
They carry all my strongest genes,
Buxom, beautiful,
Milk machines.
Already they’ve got my big brow,
And enormous muzzle,
For downing chow.
And my wrinkles, and my feet,
I tell you now,
My life’s complete!

When fledglings take a leap of faith,
And initiate their first flight,
They try to activate their wings,
And flap with all their might.
But those little flaps are futile,
When following their mum,
They’ll give them just a bit of air,
To land quite softly on a bum!
Their flight is very vocal,
Accompanied by chirps and squeaks,
And the glorious wonder of it,
Will keep you entertained for weeks!