To Poo

I have no words left to elaborate
The friendship that has made itself our own:
Love has seeped in and has maintained its faith,
Despite all the years that fly, and have flown.

You are constant, as I have remained true,
Each lives apart; yet are uncanny close,
Our loyalty was what made me and you
And trust was what cemented it, I suppose.

I have led a life and yours is yours, too,
But we always keep a sane middle ground;
And across a room, if I look at you,
We know the other’s thoughts, without a sound.

I write this poem knowing you know its end,
I thank you for you, my very best friend.

Why the night is bittersweet.

There is a reason
Why the night is bittersweet.
For all the company,
Of stars and starlight,
The moon stands alone.


If you hearken to night,
And lay your heart,
Before her dark bowers,
You will find
The gossamer quietness
Of other dreams.
You will breathe in clean dark
That harsh sunlight bespoils
And the soothing balm
Of moonlight,
If the moon be awake.
Your heart will find a bed
Of whispering leaves,
And gentle pillows of the world’s sleep.
But you will partake of all this


The creatures of the night
Aren’t fit for company.
The owl swoops alone
On its nocturnal flight.
The bat finds his way,
Blind and alone.
Visions cannot be seen,
In the harsh sunlight,
Of company,
Nor can understanding
Sink into the mind,
In a busy embrace;
That is the condition
Of being able to speak
To Night;
She allows the rarest
Of the rare
To lie awake
In her tenebrous
Magnificence –
They deal with knowing –
Make peace with seeing –
By living alone.


The fruit has ripened.
But it hangs high on the tree.
It will ripen further and die,

The sun will hit it hard.
The moon will not help at all.
The best thing for it to do is

Birds may help it perhaps,
Maybe a strong breeze,
A god may help, if it says

Knowing providence though,
It’s more likely to hang and rot,
It’s one of those things that love just

It does look tasty and juicy,
But it’s so very, very high,
I might as well give up before I