The tree had wrapped itself
around a rusty bike in an inextricable embrace
its grip distorting it as time does memories.
Being old, its fungus rotted holes
...
What is it that makes the world go round?
Our planet bears us on its back,
as it hurtles through the night without a sound.
.
...
If I could fast rewind my life, the frame
I would stop at would be that distant day
when I first spied the Himalayan
peaks from the cockpit of an old aeroplane
...
I know a place I keep returning to,
even though there's nothing there.
There's nothing there.
...
What have I achieved?
I've made no waves:
the shore remains unchanged
I've wielded no new brooms:
...
You're free one moment, having fun or not,
as the case may be, rehearsing dreams,
playing the lead role in an unfolding plot
written for you by your destiny:
...
After living many years abroad
it's good to come back home to grow old
and make friends who were shaped in that same mould
into which you were, decades ago, poured;
...
Much of, my working life has been spent in the world of English language teaching, both as a teacher and manager. Employed by the British Council for eighteen years, I have worked in various countries including Morocco, Saudi Arabia, Yugoslavia, Indonesia, and Greece. I am retired now, and enjoy the creative process of writing poetry.)
Rooms To Let
The tree had wrapped itself
around a rusty bike in an inextricable embrace
its grip distorting it as time does memories.
Being old, its fungus rotted holes
are now let out to birds and insects which
come and go
like the friends
and pastimes
old men invite
to fill the holes
vacated by their
grown-up kids
and redundant
goals, and so
obstruct the ingress
of regrets, those fungal spores
which decompose the heartwood core.