Love in a cold climate

Frostbite in the morning, wake with icicles on nose
I see breath in the bedroom as I fumble for my clothes.
Some people might view our affair as no more than a fling
But when the boiler’s broke in winter and you’re suffering
A portable hot-water-bottle, when all’s done and said
Is hardly to be sniffed at – so we ended up in bed.
Perhaps when sultry summer comes we’ll share this spot no more
As love born of necessity will melt away, mid-thaw.
But until nights grow warm enough to sleep apart, my love
I pray our hearts and minds in constancy stay hand in glove.

A Rude Awakening

I look to the East as the sunrise begins
With the pale glow that lights up the dark.
The stars slowly fade as the morning alarm
Tries to drown out the air of the lark.
I stretch with a yawn and feel five hours older
Though I may have passed them in sleep
And groan as my feet reach to meet the cold floor
When to my bed they rather would keep.
As I fill up the kettle and stand at the counter
My week-daily headache begins
And I curse the poor souls, who even before dawn
Have been sent out to empty the bins.
As the toast I smell charring and burning away,
I gaze at the clock ‘cross the room,
And noting the numbers that glow on the dial
I growl “Saturday” into the gloom.

The Parent Trap

I listen to your questions, child
And try to tell no lies
For who could bear the fall to Earth
Reflected in those eyes?
Though often you may wonder
At every slightest thing
I strive to keep my temper –
Mind to fill and heart to win.
I do but ask one favour –
A little one I crave:
Just while I am explaining,
That you sit still, and behave.
I don’t begrudge you answers
It’s not to make you blue,
But mummy needs to concentrate
So what she says is true.

Chatting in miniature

It’s not so much small talk, as chatting in miniature.
People skim over the dangerous depths.
Shallowness gives us a far brighter outlook
Thus we pass the time without causing regrets.
So listen, my dears, not to what I am saying
But rather the tone of my voice as I speak
Exclaiming with interest at gloomy weather
For only the seventeenth time this week.

On artistic licence

Trying to learn sweet music by numbers
Is driving me nearly insane
For what beauty reaches the listener’s ear
If the whole does but total refrain?
What passion may lie in the breath of a sigh
Where the singer but counts up to four?
It may have been writ so, but ’tis not a bit slow?
Music equals more than the score.
I’m doing my utmost to do the notes justice
And hope the composer’d be proud
To hear such life given to what he had striven
To write down when sung out aloud.
Yet I crave your indulgence – I mean you no harm
And I hope my performance will cause no alarm
As you’re paying to hear me sing these lines tonight,
I’ll be doing them my way – so please do sit tight
And reign in your tongue, hark ere you criticize
Or the beauty may strike you right between the eyes.