New Year's Eve

One more year consigned to the past;
one less until I die;
grown from an inch to an inch and a quarter
in a world a hundred feet high.

Death Sentence

Because I'm dead I have no rights but one
yet he that murdered me lives on
and, though in prison, still enjoys so much
of what life has to offer such
as comradeship and love of family
while my folk never will see me
again. They scan a void where howls of loss
reverberate but cannot cross.
Adaptable as people are, in time
his life will mould anew, his crime
not punished by the hell of galley slaves
now Human Rights cede much he craves
like decent food, gym, music books, TV -
none of which things can comfort me.
Absent, I am forgotten, my one right
ignored while gradually his plight
gains sympathy for his release. Throughout
imprisonment he has no doubt
he will return at last. My kin and I
have no such hope. He made me die
and yet enjoys some life which is not fair.
"Forgive." they say, which means don't care.
I in eternity cannot forgive;
fairness demands he shall not live.
Because I'm dead, I have no rights but one
which is that justice must be done.

Page 3

Some feminists view it with a shudder:
"Does a bull get excited by a young cow's udder?"

The morning that my wife died, after visiting the hospice,
disoriented, disbelieving, desperate to see her,
I drove home, embarrassed that I'd cried, and fled the empty rooms
into the garden. Calmly, silently, a delicate dart
of white passed overhead - a little egret - and my grieving
paused, astonished. Only once before had she and I seen such
a bird in England as a rare migrant in the west country:
never before had I seen an egret in my neighbourhood.
I stared, unsure of the significance of the event
while the bird glided out of sight behind some trees.
Was it just a strange coincidence or something more, something
concerning soul or spirit ? Perhaps she wasn't really
dead but metamorphosed into that bird, taking pity on me,
trying to console me in her death as so often in life.
The day passed slowly in troubled confusion till sleep eased pain.
Later in the year I saw more egrets in the neighbourhood.
So just a strange coincidence then ?

Today is the sixth anniversary of the day she died
and another miserable cold and wet December day.
In the garden this morning another white egret flew past.
Another visitation of something supernatural ?
A soul at peace I hope not searching still for consolation.
Who knows ? But what about the intervening anniversaries ?
What was she so busy with that she couldn't find the time
to visit me on those occasions ? Just like a woman !

When acquaintances ask "How are you?",
you tell them "Fine", "So-so", "OK";
more honest with friends who ask the same
"Fed-up", "Pissed off", "In the dumps today".
But a caring partner knows how you feel
without you having to say.

Old age dilemma

One old lady in my bed
or lots of young ones in my head ?

A novel is a floodlight
showing actors on a stage;
a poem is a spotlight
on one person in the audience.