Old-aged Juvenilia

Gyrating to boredom.
Boredom lasts.
Boredom to some is a way of life.

Any excuse to say and do nothing:
Nothing interesting;
Nothing which stimulates;
And nothing of any value.

This is really boring…

Looking Out to Sea

The beauty of it:
Those powerful, foam-clad, rolling waves,
Drenched in late-Spring sun.
Far-off from Winter lunatics,
Who abuse their fragile frames,
And threaten the mighty sea,
With empty promises of conquest,
Or sport with overreaching self-congratulation.

The dredger passes by,
And it won't be long till early night,
When the Côte d'Albâtre admires another namesake,
As it narrows in to port at Newhaven -
And the Seven Sisters come into view,
On the starboard side.
Full of all-day, drinking Brits,
And their lairy, home-bound insults.

Diptych 14.5.15

I'm 42 now...

In the spectral shadow of failure,
This convoluted world, this complicated life,
Hard to come by, easy to go...
Like not finding a suitable tailor,
Or a fitting wife,
And having nothing left to show,
For efforts, which come to nought,
Where success was all that was sought.

And problems seem to abound,
Making all that inspires fall to the ground,


Words...

Forget the meaning:
It's Art concealing Art.
These words are nothing but an array:
A tower leaning;
A place to start;
A place to stay.
And nothing but an impromptu talk:
To listen to;
To walk to;
And something to choose,
Turning off the hate from this evil world.