Not Dead Yet

I enter and take images -
nothing else.
       I don't disturb those who sleep amongst all that surrounds.
Eternal sleep 'neath church clocks chime.

Who are these that live no more; where are the forever dead now?

          ...Elizabeth Rogers; who were you?
Has the 'affectionate rememberance' forgotten, now that time time has moved on?

Those heavy iron gates keep the world at bay -
            but you don't care,
like those who drive past in their cars,
       the yet to be dead -
                                      the soon to be,
              sure to be...

Not Dead yet!

We'll Have to See if the Bus Turns Up

"We'll have to see if the bus turns up" said the blind man,
"Well I heard that it would", said the deaf girl.
"I'll put my arm out to stop it when it does" said the quadriplegic man from his wheelchair,
"Bet it won't!" said the man with a gambling addiction.

"Bus? ...Bus? What bus? Where am I?" said the alcholic,
"I hope it comes soon"  said the lady with anxiety, "I've got an important appointment which I really can't miss, I simply don't know what I'll do if it doesn't show up!"

"The-the-the-th-th" the man with a  stammer tried to say.
"Yeah fuck, fuck big bollocks ..I agree!" shouted the girl with tourettes...

"and I'll kill myself if it doesn't come" said the man with depression,
as the bus arrives!

(Haiku )

Alarming alarm
took us from dreamland to street.
Circling seagulls laugh

The Stones of Stonehenge

It's seems wrong to touch them,
even walk where they lay.
People in many voices talk about them,
and take pictures.
What would those who brought them here think of is?
Us, here, now at this place,
staring into our mobile phones
Sharing pictures around the world,
Showing friends that we were with them,
at this place,
at this time.
These magical stones,
these ancient; mystical stones.

Words will be written and the memories made will be taken away to be kept
forever

(Haiku )

Man walks dog, stops and
wee's against wall. Dog looks up.
Evolutions myth

Not Going Home

Not going home.
The streets we walk she calls home.
As I close and lock my front door,
she buttons her coat and turns her collar against the chill.
As I lay down in my soft, clean white sheets,
my duvet pulled up high keeping me warm and safe,
she sits on a street bench, hard, cold and exposed.
She is me but for the roll of a dice
I am her but for fate.
Not going home because,
... she hasn't got one