Scarborough Gypsy Poems

I can’t go to the airport any more
Not for goodbyes anyway
Robotically you go through the motions
At check-in fussing over luggage tags
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You can't be a poet
Passed eighty six
I wonder why that is
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Nanna was a London rose
Cockney girl from head to toes
Borne within the sound of Bow bells
She lived right in the heart of town
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Winters cold
And summers warm
In every love there is a storm
In every storm
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Why AM I still on here?
No one else is on here
Just me
I really should get off
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She’s like sunshine after rain
She lights up a room
And lightens the mood
When she smiles the world smiles
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Give me the answers I request,
What more can you do when you’re doing your best?
How much can you take when you’re put to the test?
Where is my home, my place, my nest?
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It was the bag of all bags
No other bag alike
Beautiful, exquisite
The envy of all around
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They say
Don't judge a book by its cover
However, I say
That you can always judge a person
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Teardrops exploded onto ink
Like water bombs
A tsunami of emotions
Smudged the lines of heartache
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