You promised you'd be there.
You said, and you swore.
and though I'm not bitter,
my heart's still sore.

You said, and you swore
as you walked away,
my heart's still sore
yet I'll live out the day.

As you walked away,
and though I'm not bitter,
yet I'll live out the day
you promised you'd be there.

I miss you.

While reading Wordsworth in the sun,
those woven words I would have spun,
I wonder if you're having fun?
and still
I miss you.

Three words I swore I wouldn't say,
for they give all the game away
though now I have no hand to play
yet still
I miss you.

I wish that you were with me now
you made the best of me somehow
caused me to laugh at every row
and so
I miss you.

I wonder what you did today
and if you're happier this way?
Or do you think of me and say
sometimes
I miss you.

No other words can quite convey
that part of each and every day
is yours. The only thing I pray
is not to
miss you.

There's a time.
In the dance.
When you know that
you're taking a chance.

With a curve.
And a twist.
And you're praying
you don't break her wrist.

But you're filled
with the thrill
of the thought
that you'll hold her until

she is claimed
by the dance
with the next man
who's promised romance.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~
And you long for her to look
straight into your adoring eyes.
You want to keep her near you,
safe from other fellows lies.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~

But you still
let her go,
hoping someday
she'll know

how you longed
for her charms
as she twirled
in his arms.

Oh drat! Oh heck!
The paper just got wrapped
around my printers neck!

"I'm guilty M'lord."
I have to say.
For I kept it plugged in
when I boxed it away.

But counsel speaks!
There are, it seems,
rare mitigating circumstances!
I listen wrapt and all confused.
Not fancying my chances.

He proceeds to eulogise my life.
And makes such a meal of my piteous tale,
that I intevene and plead with the judge
to please stop the trial and throw me in jail!

I don't suit hats
and I'm not their cup of tea.
My head is just the wrong shape
and it's far too small you see.

So the hats that I have
quite simply have to be
of the jokey, laughing,
giggling, silliest variety.

I've a pink hat with bobbles,
and a purple fluffy beast,
an Arsenal grey with dangling braids,
and a multicoloured feast
of points and tassles, braids and swirls.
I guess I'm not like other girls.

But none of the boys
will walk along with me.

Still, I don't mind. I love daft hats,
and my daft hats love me.

You sought to take my feet
and run my life for me.
To bind my eyes
and lead me by the hand.
You said you read my mind
and then you told me what to think.
You drew an X
and told me where to stand.

You said that I was weak
and didn't know what I was feeling.
You told me I was always in the wrong.
You made a gilded cage and then you locked me in it
So you could sit and listen,
as I sang your song

In the supermarket airport
There are arrivals every day.
The departures in your trolley
Come to you from far away.

Those brightly coloured vegetables
Have sat around for days
In what we’re told are
such hygienic backroom bays.
They’re obviously picked and packed by well paid sprites and elves!
Then magically appear on your supermarket shelves.

Here every carrot is straight and clean
And every lettuce crisply curled
Then gassed in plastic packets
That are filling up our world!

Take a glance inside your trolley
And if what I say is true
Then I guarantee the food within
Has seen more of the world than you.

Like the picture on the packet
Of your frozen ready meal
The colour of this far flown food is great
The taste experience, surreal.

Those ripe tomatoes in their reddest skins
We should dye brown, to match their taste
Those vivid orange carrots are a mystery of flavour-
What a waste!

A plate of vibrant promising hue
Can taste of packaging and glue.

The supermarket tells you you’re in clover
But its goods have all the texture of an old pullover.
Your supermarket says that it is catering for you
But if you’re honest do you really think that’s true?
If you don’t then there is something you can do.

At the supermarket airport
All the money’s in departures
So put that trolley back
And just depart.
If you're wanting to be vocal
Then shop seasonal and local
And hit these psuedo airports at their heart.