BORDERLINE.

She's histrionic,mad,erratic,
the Bertha Rochester of the attic
who feels the words that others cannot hear,
and speaks of torture,passion,truth and fear.
Yet if she's working in the arts,
the audience takes her to their hearts.
So is it genius or insanity
that provokes the sheep humanity?

THE GRAVE.

You didn't bring me irises
yet you know damn well I love them.
Instead,you place some tawdry cherub at my head.
NO ONE LIES HERE,it should have read.
Just go away home to your neighbour-cooked pies
and leave me in peace,
listening to rooks and rustling yews,
sleeping in my own bed in my own world.
You know damn well I love irises.

MAKING MARKS.

I asked permission from the oak,
to carve my name on his proud side.
For years we stood in wind and rain,
watching grazers come and go,
and climbers grow from boy to man.
When my gnarled fingers met the bark,
I told him I was going home.
He knew I'd loved him all the while,
and he would never be alone.