SAD THE EYES BUT DEEP THE TREE AND THINGS WHOSE TIME IS FINISHED

Your eyes are sad and wide I see,

Vaguely trimmed with tears, but stoically

Are set the laughter lines as if agreed,

But now that frowns have been set free

They falter knowing history,

Back and forth like swaying wind-breathed leaves,

Extremities of deepset, ancient tree

That past is past and present too

And future’s vacant canvass new,

Our days in time are far too few 

For blisters to form calloused queue,

Of slippers’ glass there are just a few,

Time now to try another shoe

But yet our days have been too many

That weaved no fabric like a spinning jenny,

A wasted coin, a single-sided penny

Which for half the price still would not buy any

Time for time to be replenished

What was the point of all the hope,

No net to catch, too thin the rope,

And getting to the other side

No circus walker attempts that ride,

A ride whose fate’s short finished

BUILDERS, BAKERS AND OTHER STUFF MAKERS

When I grow up if ever that is

Like a red glassed Berocca on steroidal pink fizz,

A career decision that I have to take

My job description in the wings I await,

Will fall on the page with pockmarked-red stain

But no real blood, unless Dragons I've slain.

So what will life be on that grown up skymountain?

A leakdribbling faucet or Neutronic fountain?

I’ll let you know when it’s there I arrive

Until then, like the BeeGees, I’m “Stayin’ Alive”

Rocketshipped at birth, ground already shaken

Lift off successful unless I’m mistaken

Some misguided routes I’ve misguidedly taken,

So rebirth perhaps will perhaps re-awaken,

But they’ve lead to a point where this first hundred years

Is well under way and not always with tears

In that Neutronic fountain, nor always of cheers

But the plan’s well laid now for when I grow up

I’ll willingly sip from that rebirthing cup

So just let me know when it’s time to start

Several billion beats left for this beating heart

So when I grow up what will I be?

A butcher, a baker, a sick candle maker

A tinker, a tailor a light-sabre sailor

Voyaging interstellar oceans, in ships of plutonium

Blue lighted energy, or some beam me up potion

A lightning strike rhythm and lead guitar player

A sprinter, a poet, a Melbourne Cup Stayer

A balcony dweller contemplating the sea

But whatever it is, keep a look out for me

A singer a poet in a cocktail mixer

Shaken not stirred this spy cough elixir

A doer of deeds, on white noble steeds

Obi Wan, but taller, with wisdom to heed          

Achieve peace in our time

And make some words rhyme

Body surf waves with an offshore breeze

And learn to ride horses as they run through the trees

       

Curing the sick with the loaves and the fishes

A saver of life and doing its dishes

Masked in a cape of fine red golden thread

I’ll catch up with Superman, he’s just up ahead

And on that euphoric but natural high

My job description’s that “I’m going to fly”

No speeding bullets or single bounds

But with amplification make some very loud sounds

So my very existence I plan not to end

But to make someone smile by just pressing send.