Missing Paperweight

Corporate and lonely, whistling a three-or-four note tune,
in metal. The logo that identifies him is a sheep, a small drum, a broken gate, a trumpet to be played in an expanse of field, and…
does buttons up and down in his preferred sequence.
Loves, laughs and thinks.

A goldfish is floating, outside the window of the fish-bowl, saying “OO, O, O, O” to a three-or-four note tune, and stays there for the rest of time, looking in.

In the fastest-growing economy, he has friends at parties, an interest in architecture, what heaven is like, and Chinese culture.

Could stay awake,
spending life, travelling with eyes closed evenly on each side,
thankfully, in a tightly-woven boat,
down the motor-river,

oh, cotton sleep fallen from the tree.
Yellow passenger lights go by;
illuminated no-smoking signs overhead.

I’d like to wear this jumper
in gale-force winds.

Call me in the morning
on the eve of a holiday,
holding a lucky bag,
containing
a colouring book and crayons

Monkey

When I count every day, I am missing every monkey. I count every cute planet-ruling simian who soon meets, fights, plays, and speaks. With a smile and tumbler-handle ears.

He wants nothing yet but a banana. I might like more than a banana, but would be content with one for now.

When I walk up the beach, chasing monkey. Chasing the difference between an inflatable and the fruit banana, and monkey knows me, from his throne in India, Malaysia and other places, and beach hut in trees.

no sunshine (“La Bamba”)

Without the sunshine
that someone put back in the box
saying “time to put away your toys”.

So it was dark;
we called it night.

Then dreamt of silver cars and knights
then founded a city made of gold
with a leopard guarding at the gates,
who said,

“who goes there?
- knight, tiger or lion?”

Each of them, friends
passing through in silver cars
that I left
to the distant singing of
“La Bamba”.

The candles of wax held strong -
wearying arms out of tall windows.

Diamonds, as essential to a diet as an everyday apple,
the arrival of electric bulbs and flowers
makes us lazy.

Adverts charged with electricity,
sending messages just to themselves,

a large sign for the hump-backed creatures of which there were many.

Now I don’t think I know or mind about anything;

always having light.

EL DIARIO DE ________
(THE DIARY OF ______ )

The day I was young,
was the first page of my diary,

The day I grew old,
never happened,
fortunately,

Home stayed where it was,
musical chairs
played hits of the time,

such as Glenn Miller and his Orchestra,
their silver aeroplane getting lost in the fog,

cows settling below
in the blitzed city,

sun on the faces of children.

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