sitting in the pub
thinking of my wife at
home half past
four in the afternoon

love is not a vacuum
love reaches in

a hand to wipe the sweat from your face
a word of encouragement

a poem on your lips
a listening ear

a gift of laughter
to laugh at yourself.

On the horse of vanity doth ride
Human heart adorned with pride

Pavin

I peace myself by knowing the earth is not at risk
for it has overcome much worse in its volatile past.
From afar it will still appear a blue dot
but it is its current inhabitants that need to worry about their future

threw it aside
thinking of course
a poem is never

as good as
it might have been,
though    ..

not having felt great for
ages one somewhat ..

writing a poem on the bus
and the elderly woman sitting next to me
says oh, is it about us