To celebrate that I have completed posting the sequence of almost a hundred meditations (thanks to everyone for all likes and comments on those), and also in honour of it being World Poetry Day today (thanks to Dean Fraser for the reminder) - I thought I'd post this little something.... 

I've got a poem that gets stuck in your head
stuck in your head, stuck in your head
I've got a poem t...

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Alternative Title : Ordinary Song

These words I sing
Are nothing special
Just like me

But they’ve a passion
And a beauty
And an urge to fly free.

These words that you hear
They’re not worth listening to
I fear

But I’ll sing them
Give them wings and
Let them go where they please.

These words, so alone
They may not find a good home
But they exist
And they persist
And they’...

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Alphabet soup was too expensive
Instead, I have spent my life
Making poetry
Out of ordinary spaghetti
 

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I am at the station
but there won't be a train coming.
Not yet.

I am looking into the distance
searching for any movement
in any direction
wishing for a train
wanting the journey
needing a destination.

I remember the blur of motion
the thrum of sound
the rush of wind
the satisfying halt.

Even before the train comes
you can imagine getting in
finding a seat
settling down
wond...

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Don't we all see our speciality
as the central truth?
My sister, the mathematician, thinks the world
is ruled by numbers
and defined by them.
She would say that without maths
the world is nothing
then start to prove it.

The medic or the tailor
the banker or the lawyer
the chef or farmer
all
the centre of the universe,
but most of all
I think
the poet.

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You'd be surprised how rarely we think
About what we want to say.

This world barely gives the time
To do more than think
We are thinking, 
Anyway.

Not the everyday chatter,
Though even that sometimes slips out
Unchecked.

It is our inner message to the world,
Our message to ourselves
That we neglect.

Whereas, a blank page challenges the poet
To do more than merely spill the sou...

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There’s always an if
There’s always a there
There’s always a when
There’s always a where.

There’s always an up
There’s always a down
There’s always a side
There’s always around.

There’s always the sky
There’s always the ground
There’s always a poem
To be found.

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Each poem is a work of art
 down to the artist to decide
  when is it finished?

Each poem is a masterpiece
 gradually formed
  and carefully shaped?

Each poem is a tapestry
 experiences and feelings converged
  woven in words

Each poem is a sounding voice
 caught onto the page
  and being heard?

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I have another poem
which is better than this one.
It is shiny and goes much faster
It sounds better and means more.
My other poem is kept for special occasions
and protected 

This poem is my run-around poem
Don't judge me on it.
 

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Words are falling, like rain, like rain.
Words living and dying and born again
Falling like rain.

And they are falling on windows, drumming on rooftops
Words that are gentle, words that are ruthless
Falling like rain.

Words in trickles and rivulets, in streams and torrents
Words splashing onto legs, words drenching heads
Falling like rain.

Out of thin air, pure, clear, sent distant,...

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