once I was young

The Real Meeting.



We sat in a circle, fourteen of us,

pointing knees at each other, drinking

coffee,
trying to look relaxed.

Sweaty palms discretely dried
 on trousers leg

One of the six women in the group

spoke - women are better at

airing their feelings than men- she

went on, a great length, about a life

of endless cocktail parties around

a swimming pool, posh wine at

an expensive restaurant,
of which I knew

nothing; fiddled with a lighter,

a sign on the wall read NO SMOKING.

.................................

The Lost and Forgotten

Working Class Generation.



We who left school in 1968 without

Honors and degrees had dreams when

We filled factories and building sites

With youthful laughter which soon

Stopped when run over by the juggernaut

Of life, marriage, and a high-rise flat.

Later when work dried up, no skills no

Education and too old for a new job,

Divorce, queuing at the dole a flight

Into booze, walking the streets of Rue,

Fuck it all and waiting for tomorrow.

Lady of Mercy, only one dream left,

That of coming up on the pool, quid's

In, a round of drinks for the mates in

The pub and self-respect; we know it

Won't happen but dream we must, or

Be flotsam in streets of regrets where

It's always gloomy and eyes have lost

The sheen of hope.
.....................................

On Getting Old.



It's a strange sensation, being sixty.

Feel as, if I have won a battle

struggling up a mountain of years,



Now that I've captured the high

Grounds I can look back and smile

sans regrets.



Look ahead and see a new

beginning, 'cause, I know that I'll be

a flower on an almond tree.

..............................

Sweet Dreams?

Dreamed of you last, the ease

of our embrace, not wanting to break

free, or be alone, the dream ended

as it began us entwined, in the grip

of eternity; woke up to a calm

your vanishing smile.

My wife breathed evenly beside

me the pain of lost love and

the sadness of not loving her,

the way I still adore you kept me

trapped in a melancholic mood

till released by a new day.

................................



Palestine

I sit in  the den
Ticks ten past seven evening time.
I feel at ease and doves of peace
Cross a distant sky.
The unchanging hum of the
Accentuates my inner,
there will be peace too in
Palestine where a child, newly born,
Died in a senseless war and became
A bitter long before she
Had herself.
" We're so very sorry, we apologize,
But we have the right to defend our
Settlers of this land."
…And from the dispossessed, a cry
Of revenge echoes through ravaged
Streets.
I sit in my and the
Hums a lullaby of everlasting sorrow.