Rocks & sand

Someone wise once advised
Against construction upon the shore
Rather choose rocks, a basis much more sure
But some rocks were formed from sand
And time (and pressure) has fused them tight enough.
Sedimentary, my dear Rabbi
And Peter was but a pebble when you picked him, after all.
Or am I mixing metaphors?

What I mean to say is
How firm is firm enough?
And what exactly is this faith?
Is it a mere attitude, a decision
To keep on going, trying & seeking
Or something more profound than that?

Lord, I believe; help me with my unbelief.


Don’t ask don’t tell

I meet you at the terminus – at the start for me of something new

Coming up the steps my heart coughed when I glimpsed your jacket through the throng

I guess it’ll always recognize you.

You’re always shorter than I remember – smaller all round, somehow, even though I think you’ve grown

I suppose it’s the shrinking that happened in my mind

when my illusions burst and you deflated down to reality.

We find a café and sit down, the waiter buzzing round like a hesitant fly.

You fiddle with your fringe as we ordered drinks.

I’d forgotten how you did that with your hair.

A gentle weirdness pervades the tranquil scene

Two minds once so intimate slightly struggle to connect

But silence is always easy enough when you’ve been so close

and before long I’ve got you laughing, your eyes are flashing

I find myself revelling in their delicious, long-lost warmth.

We talk about my new beau, and I wonder if you know

that these flutters I feel for him were once for you –

and instantly, Britishly, sincerely hope you don’t.

“You’d like him”, I say, stifling a wry smile.

“You’ve got a lot in common.”

You return my smile.