Me and Monet
we love haystacks 
he paints them 
whilst I forage 
amidst them looking 
for that needle 
don’t you tire
I once asked 
my friend Monet
of painting haystacks 
no more than 
you tire of
looking for love 

And the trumpet 
smooth and throaty
it lulls and 
lifts squeals and 
soothes always questioning 
but never solving 
especially when paired 
painfully with Chopin
then it haunts 
and it heckles 
and sometimes heralds 
of new comings 
or welcomed goings

I could 
I might 
I don’t 
have to 
limbo this
thistly place 
of indecision 
to sleep 
to wake 
to on
and on
or pause 
and wait 
to pass 

Lazy I am 
not even allure
of coffee arouses
preferring to doze
to wade back 
into the shallows 
of sleep’s shadow
prompt me not 
you warm elixir 
for me alone 
can conjure you 

Laying here 
gazing here 
not knowing 
whether sun
or cloud 
content with 
cool quiet 
the pause 
before roar
stay still
my love 
stay asleep 
let day
come later