Only Don’t Ask Me

The unlocatable sorrows of the heart
cannot be mapped
but may be glimpsed through art -
in colours that in striking ways combine,
in music or words that mysteriously
lilt or chime.

In no sense do these explicitly impart
significance, but make you start;
feel elevated – touch, jar
the unlocatable sorrows of the heart.

Else ask the wind, the fire, the sea -
only don’t ask me.


History, memory,
I shall not visit
the archive today.

Nor visit the trunk
in the loft,
nor the letters
behind the clock.

Ah, the clock,
the hungry clock.

Distortion, erasure,

history blurs into

The Entertainment

The party was a washout,
the entertainment didn’t show.
The food was truly awful
and the music far too slow.
I danced a quiet tango
in a room all by myself,
said goodbye to no one
and went to bed at twelve.

At three I rose in torment
with a pain inside my head.
The party wasn’t over
but had carried on instead.
It’s just that I got sidetracked,
though in truth I’d had my fill.
I was the entertainment
just wasn’t quite as billed.