in the clouds & down to earth
"The sun does arise
And make happy the skies"
‘The Echoing Green’ by William Blake
"the will to do, the soul to dare"
"PROSE ABOUT CONS OF CUTTING HAIR"
It is forever a dilemma,
to snip, style or feather.
To keep it long,
or make it short?
I think I ought,
to have sought,
suffice for the price
of a cut,
good enough to strut.
my four o’clock appointment looms,
& I am all alone to ponder how best to blossom?
how best to bloom?
So with one hour to spare,
the only thought’s my hair,
the hairdresser, my snare…oh this simply isn’t fair!
P.s. Do I dare? And do you care?
"NOT QUITE MY STYEL"
I have a stye.
The apple’s on my eye.
I blame it on my London gallivants!
The tube, I’m certain takes the starring role,
The filthy wind, dust, dirt – sure takes its toll.
Whether travelling from north to south, low to high,
Take my advice, keep shut that eye!
Here is no place to wink at a stranger,
Unless you wish to flirt with danger.
Whether it be the Circle line, the Jubilee,
Just make sure you’ll continue to see!
Don those glasses, dark or reading,
Or else you might find yourself pleading,
Guilty of not thinking before blinking,
Recalling ‘…what a pity! I used to be pretty’,
Into London’s underground, east or west bound,
What does it matter?
It shall be Golden Eye that you’ll take for your mound.
A hot compress you shall require.
Or else the consequences could be dire.
And ‘Keep an eye on it’ you will be told,
Phase one, phase two – the rest will unfold.
Meanwhile do not worry that your eyes are the windows to your soul,
It’s important you don’t reach for your mascara, nor your kohl.
Lastly, take extra special care when minding the gap,
It is your confidence that your stye would not wish to sap.
So onwards and upwards back to street level,
Tomorrow’s a new day and oh how you’ll revel,
in the return of your vision without an incision!
if you heed my advice – without thinking twice.
…It’s your decision!
"Long gone are the days of frequent flying
Airplane tickets, I have sadly stopped buying
Although I always carry the traveling bug
A constant companion; at my heartstrings they tug
Whether for Italy, Israel or Argentina
With each day in London, they only get keener
It’s got to the point when a visit warrants
So I’ve packed up my bags and I’ve arrived in Florence!"
"GRAZIE PER MAGIA PURA!"
Was this past week a dream?
Different to any other ~ it was supreme.
Ecstatic to see my very bestest friends
My city for five years and all the beauty it lends.
The days passed with astonishing speed
(A return ticket I already need!)
The memories we shared, the history we made.
For these 168 hours, any price I’d have paid.
"Spring sprang. Summer sang."
Off to the park I headed.
Not Hyde, nor Green; it’s to Regents I’m wedded.
The gentle breeze, the whispering leaves.
All senses awoken, yet not a word spoken.
"It could be Greater, Britain!"
The raindrops fell, into the swell
Of icy waves ~ it’s one of those days!
Mid June approaching, winter fast encroaching
The rains anointing is deeply disappointing.
"The familiar sound of rain does pound
The window’s in tears; the cries one hears
Our vision’s blurred ~ summer absurd!
‘Your light we have forgotten
Your heat we have not felt
Everything’s turned rotten
The short straw we were dealt’
But then the clouds make way
For your presence, for your stay
You bathe us in your beauty
Put an end to our dismay."
"At the height of a mile, I stayed a while."
I took my drink, to sit and think.
On the brink of a thought,
A dream I caught.
Out of body, out of mind,
Up from earth, for the clouds I pined.
Goodbye to ground ~ to sky I’m bound.