The Smile

The smile

Can be many things

Cruel and sarcastic

Lopsided, elastic

Gently enigmatic

Dreamy and magic

Narcissistic, plastic

Absolutely fantastic

Sheepish, misted,

Wistful, twisted


And kissed


And missed

Mean and grim

Smug little grin

A leer or a jeer

A curl, a snarl, a sneer

The smile can be over

Before it’s begun

A flash, a snapshot

See how they run

A painted on mask

Or sunny and sweet

The smile that lasts

Making crows feet

Not quite there

Or all over the face

As broad as a barn door

As warm as embrace

Someone can possess

The bubbly smile

Or one that makes you

Run a mile

Nasty and evil

Debauched and dire

Cool like an icicle

Melting a fire

The smile is like money

False or real

The smile can barter

Can give or steal

The smile to open up

Or to wear like a wall

The smile can be everything

Or nothing at all.

Hiding In The Shadows

It’s hiding in the shadows

I say it won’t last

The murky old memories

Cobwebs of the past

Detritus and debris

Lying on the floor

The body of regret

Dead behind the door

Bitterness and sorrow

Smells of rot and rust

Of damp, dark mildew

Of mold, dank and must.

It’s hiding in the shadows

The pain and the love

The joy and the anger

Mingle in the dust

The hopes and the what-if’s

Broken dreams, failed schemes

Scramble for the strip of light

That peeps beyond the beams

I listen for footsteps

But they are silent in the hall

What’s hiding in the shadows

Won’t come out at all.

Is frozen in the distance

And cannot move or go.

It’s stuck in aged decades

Of many moons ago.

This shadow is looming

And it won’t let me be.

What’s hiding in the shadows

Well, that thing…

Is me.

MidLife Crisis

The desire to relive youth

Comes on like a contagion

A midlife crisis is an apt word

To describe the malady

Many go there

But some never return

A clock can be biological

Ticking loud enough

To cause ears to bleed

And heads to explode

And minds to claw

At the walls of time

Like a trapped animal

Remembering suddenly

Things never done

Places never been

Hearts never explored

Lands never conquered

Dreams never realised

Emotions never felt

Repression never lifted

Oceans never explored

Projects never finished

The clock can be cerebral

A desire or need to ram

And jam in, as much as possible

Like filling a suitcase to bursting

So it can’t be closed


Red sports car

Leather jacket


A younger model

A need to re-affirm




Or all three

And a hope to escape

The existance one finds themselves

Embroiled in.

The midlife crisis is actually

Three quarters of the way into life

Creating an air of desperation




A need to fall

Sweet surrender

To practice for that other surrender

Of death

But hopefully

Once the crisis is over

You come away – unscathed

Without leaving too many casualties

In your wake

And it’s back to reality

Normality need not be

Stale soup and slippers

Instead, it can be sanity

And staid need not be stagnant

And dreams need not be broken

And summer can burst through

The illusion of spring.

Don’t Let Art Take A Back Seat

Don’t let art take a back seat

To your job or profession

You have to pay the bills

But never let that take precedence

I know that’s hard

As are the hundreds of worries that assail our minds

Day in, day out

Causing interference

In our brain waves

But persevere, be steadfast.

Have loyalty

And faithfulness

To your talents

To your dreams

More important than any job

And more important than

Most things in your life

Treat your art like a life partner

Your creative ability

And creative energy

Is an essential part of your soul

Do not let it rot and blacken

On the vine of your heart

Do not let creative atrophy

Silence your spirit

If it doesn’t come

Don’t panic

It’ll come.

When you least expect it

When you’ve given up

Or said, I really can’t be bothered with this now

Then you’ll pick up a pen.

And you’ll be writing

And you’ll think

Where did that come from?

It was there all along

Just waiting

Waiting for the right time and place.


Mechanical bits and bobs turning

But the machine is slowly winding down

Until it stops

And then it will just

Sit in the warehouse

(Like the Ark Of The Covenant

In Indiana Jones)

Just sitting there

Gathering dust

Cobwebs will form

Spiders will make homes

In the little alcoves

Between the smallest cogs

The machine is full of nests

Of other lives

But not its own

A machine doesn’t think

Or have a mind

It becomes a host

To little beating hearts

And things that want to live



That precious commodity

Is coveted

Makes people


With Envy

Makes them


With Jealousy


With Frustration

They want

Your downfall

Your suffering

But they don’t have innocence

Will never have it

Have never had it

Can never have it

Innocence is the most coveted

Of all things

If you have it

They will try to take it from you

By force

If necessary

They may succeed

To a point

But only to a point

You will take it back

Get money on the empties

They owe you

Always be owing you

And will pay in full

In the end.

But in the meantime,

Their ‘I OWE YOU’

Is imprinted in their souls.

And they have to pay it back



A Hundred Fold

Can’t forget them

Well then,

Just forgive them

For they know not what they do




Just do it

To free yourself

And you will free everything else up

In your life

And be astounded

By your progress

God will do the rest.