Posted in Family- Memories, Love, Poetry

Memory of my Mother.

When we met or talked or touched
I always  I felt the Blue
For there are many colours. .  I felt them all in you.

rainbow

 I have touched the yellow, I have held the green
And I have felt the pain of white
When your colours were not   seen

When once I knew your rainbow, I fondly  grasped the red
I fully owned  your colours
and all my pains were dead .

 

Posted in Love, Poetry

A Definition of Love

 loveA definition of love

Think of peoples minds containing ice cubes in a bucket.
in every little ice cube a tiny block of wisdom
The bucket is intelligence and with any luck it
Is keeping all the silly parts of mind, fully locked in reason.
Love is just a roasting oven, one proven way to fuck it.
Is melting down whole damn show. It’s most akin to treason.