...on the release of the seventh Harry Potter book...

Simultaneous longing and delight;

An urban festival to deep desire;

A global waiting for the coming gem.

Midnight, noon, the evening, three am:

An opportunity for baser hire

Eleven million books in one day-night.

Hands clench, hearts laugh, we hold our breath, we sigh;

Reaching after something far beyond,

Searching for safe ways to look inside.

Here is a world win which I can confide,

Experience vicarious close bond;

Recounting my heart's fundamental cry.

The darkness all around us is revealed

As people choose for evil, seize the power.

Here too the light is seen to be denied

As people grasp their comfort, clutch their lives.

But even in the best the shadows glower,

They fight to turn away and not to yield.

From this alternate world hope comes to dawn

In my reality, where hope has died.

Here courage stands, though weak, against the strong;

Sacrifices, dares refuse the wrong.

At last the hater perishes in pride,

Defeated by the one it laughed to scorn.

Can the world of history be like this?

Did a crown of thorns once make a twist,

Make fantasy and truth connect, and kiss?

silent mime

Does the father think he's spending time

With his daughter, sitting silent by?

With silent sips of coffee, he reads on,

Undisturbed as daughter says goodbye,

The news absorbs him, when she's here or gone,

Each petty item large. This is no bi-

Directional relationship, but non-

Togetherness. So she goes off to buy

While he reads finance, politics and crime.

What if once he'd let the paper lie?

What if once his love could glow upon

His daughter, watch and praise her as she shone?

Might they still escape this silent lie

And not maintain this mute pretence in mime?

No Sense

The glass of one shop front reflects the faded image of another

A small child staggers under a bunch of sweet-smelling flowers; a father-daughter conspiracy for a much-loved woman

Escalators escalate unceasingly, rushing me past people I only glance at

The smooth marble floors glide, glide away

A poem with no rhythm, metre or verse

A lone, lonely woman dressed up to the tens

hurrying, hurrying to meet a prince charming she knows is

Silent, silent mouthing cartoons trapped behind the flashing lights

Speak what I can only guess at

Pictures make no sense to me, a montage without

Within fake cactus plants, surviving the desert, still have no purchase here

I cannot make this poetry.