A courtyard of stone

an old man
playing a violin
devotes
his melancholy notes
to the sun
a blue sky
and a few birds
passing by
whilst forgotten chansons
echo off the walls
of shut shops
beneath a plane tree
almost alone
he brings tears
and joy
to a courtyard of stone

Women

perfect
creations
of a creative
god
creating
precious
pure
emotional
curvy
beings
shining
light
perpetually
yet sometimes
a tad whiny
perhaps regretfully

Stride

regarding my eventful stride
in the garden of perception
I ponder
and wonder
how I ended up
down yonder
believing fate
would caress my inner
conspicuous alteration
of thoughtful contemplation
that opens
and shuts shutters
of my ever vivid imagination

Bowie

shining starman
galactic eyes
this lyrical labyrinth
his myth in disguise

fallen to earth
blessed with dark voice
his majestic apparel
and intellectual poise

shy oddity
golden hair
humble chameleon
with androgynous flair

magical star lit
in a theatrical maze
graciously styled
a visual daze

talented genius
majored in Tom
gracious Jones
my musical bomb

To the forest

rising damp
steam and smoke
misty sunlight
like a faded lamp
gazing upon dead wood
covering moist soil
the earth breathing
through snugly moss
trees waving
wandering gust

I should go to the forest
I really must…

My beautiful English rose

she
was born
with many a thorn
prickly
yet blossoming
in my light
not to clamber
over yours truly
much to his delight

holding reds
fragrant and fresh
she stands firm
with puissant pose
now stuck
in me
I embrace her sting
my beautiful
English rose