Forest fire If trees had feet might they not run from the forest fire? Weave and duck away from the thundering flames, remove their material source and extinguish the fire for lack of stuff to burn? No For normal tree #life is dark and dank and the flames are hot and bright, swift and passionate Even with feet The trees will stand transfixed until they are engulfed, changed to powder black statues of surprise You are my forest fire sparking and cracking with burned-up feeling your searing touch evaporates my sap You pass through so quickly I am left charred and breathless

When you look When you look at the sky and you say it's blue, do you see the blue like I see blue? For we only have words and the words won't do. What colour is blue? It's the colour of the sky. What colour is the sky? The sky is blue. When you look at our love and you say it's true, do you see true like I see true? Do you see love the same way too? You say you love me and I love you. But we only have words and the words won't do.

Growing old Pastel green and dusty brown sun-bleached deck chairs wear a frown frank exchanges round the town long-fought fights that wear you down The girls grow old and cut their hair long walks succumb to a comfy chair it's always truth in truth or dare spring takes so long to reach the air Every story is an ending every grassy reed unbending every fence in need of mending every sorry face is pending

Songs yet to come Songs of childhood make me think of #poems yet to come In my young days when I heard music I heard the drums Now I'm older I like the tunes that only I can hum Standing in the doorway, lighting up a cigarette. Black hat, black coat, hiding in the shadows. It's the future: #poems yet to come Lurking in a subway, waiting for the night time. Moody, broody, rode around the back way. It's the future: #poems yet to come Songs of glory make me think of lives yet to come In my young days never fearful of the men with guns Now I'm older strange things happen And I'm on the run Fighting for the righteous, flying round like acrobats. Oddments, bookends, anything to hold it in. It's the future: lives yet to come Winding up at Waitrose, taking back the trolley. Smart card, smart car, think about creative arts. It's the future: lives yet to come Songs of sadness make me think of from where I've come In my young days I stayed cheerful by staying stumm Now I'm thinking I can't do better than I've already done Lying in the sunshine, listening to Latin tunes. Salsa, cha-cha, dancing round the living room It's the future: from where we've come Making love at lunchtime, hugging in the afternoon. Small pond, big pond, chitter-chatter in the gloom It's the future: from where we've come

Rocking Chairs If you were rocking and I were rocking and we were eighty-three and I turned around to look at you, what would you say to me? You might say: "#life's had its ups and downs but that's why it's been so good. Flat is kind of boring. Flat is rather dull. People, if you think about it, pay good money to ride roller coasters: we got ours for free." And I might pause a beat and look on your hands at the scars, and wonder how so long they clung to the roller coaster bars. And though I might say nothing, I would seem to agree. But really I'd be thinking: "it's not the ride, it's the company. #life has been so good because I went up and down with you." And I might look at you at eighty-three and you might look at me and you might say "I'm off to work now. When I get back, I'll make us a cup of tea."