The expert

My expertise is pleonasm.
You see, I think it good
That every little thing I say
Is fully understood.

I wouldn't like to think that you
Had not quite got my gist;
I'd hate to think that any of
My wisdom might be missed.

In case you haven't got it yet,
Then what I'm trying to say,
Is that I'd rather my thoughts weren't
The ones that got away.

Perhaps I haven't made my point,
So just to make it clear,
Not fully being understood's
My deepest, darkest fear.

Have you grasped what I'm saying yet?
I don't think it's absurd;
I just don't want my meaning lost
For want of one more word.

I fear I haven't said enough;
I'll give it one more go,
I like to use sufficient words
To spell out all I know.

My warders say that I should stop,
But if you're still not sure
These seven verses are enough,
I'll write you twenty more!

New wooden floor

Biggles sprawls – Bambi
on ice – chases a biscuit
that skips out of reach

Whale song

Leviathan, gliding through the quantum ocean,
clicks and whoops his liquid roar
and sends his many voices echoing.
The kelps and sea-grass shiver, feeding in his wake,
and plankton dance and rest and dance and sway.
We too may hear his song and understand
no words, but feel the brooding, soaring love
that will not let life sink and fail.

Sharing the peace in church

I am nothing
I am a shadow, briefly darkening
the gaze of those who greet me,
grip my hand,
and before our fingers part,
before their lips cease speaking words of peace,
glance away, seeking someone real,
someone worth some warmth.