Passing

Denim shorts clinging, pony tail swinging, firm thighed stride of youth and purpose, pert breasted optimism, new, unbroken, passing me by leaving the scent of memory, lost opportunity, the one that got away, denim shorts clinging, pony tail swinging.





Parkstreet

Bar Siren

Long of leg
And firm of bottom.
Smart one liners?
You bet she's got 'em.

Straight of back
And pert of breast.
She'll spritz you spirits,
With a zest.

Tight of jeans
And tight of top.
She'll smile at you,
Until you stop,
Tipping.





Parkstreet

I Am Lost In The Waving Purple

Her eyes
Are not the colour of lavender,
But they are.


Up close
They are distinct, faceted flowers,
But they aren't.


Her eyes.
I am lost in the waving purple.
Lavender.





Parkstreet

Sherlock Holmes Himself

The detectives
In old novels
Poke through ashes,
Find a clue, 
That leads
To understanding.

Sherlock Holmes
Himself
Could search our hearth,
The ashes,
What might have been,
And find nothing.





Parkstreet

I'd Walk A Mile For A Camel

I'd walk
A mile for a Camel.
Another ten miles
To smoke it,
In bed
Beside you.


I'd blow smoke rings
Through the eye
Of a needle,
To show you
I was
In heaven.





Parkstreet

Ko-fi

Seven League Boots

It may not look like it,
But this old, black, denim jacket is
A pair of 

Seven

League

Boots.

It belonged to her.
When I wear it I can

Step

Over


Anything.





Parkstreet

Newtown

He lay flowers,
Despite his loss,
On the lawn
Of the killer's house.

He spat,
As he walked away.





Parkstreet