It’s nice to be me

she wonders

when you do not know

what the time is

at any shade of day.


When the dreams

bring down

the leaves of scorn

blown by the bluster

of those

that know what they do.


It is so nice to be me

on my own

to walk the trails of private gardening.


I rustle round the grass

like a whisper.


In the blue forget-me-nots

that flutter in my company


Who needs people?

if you have sown

the pretty pinks

to keep the head warm and cosy

in its bed of confidence.


I am so special I know

there are places to fly

to say the crazy things I say.


Nigel Ford

Nigel was born in 1944 and started writing age 14. Jobs include reporter for The Daily Times, Lagos, Nigeria, travel writer for Sun Publishing, London, English teacher for Berlitz, Hamburg, copy writer for Ted Bates, Stockholm. Several magazines in UK and US have published his work, including Nexus, Outposts, Encounter, New Spokes, Inkshed, The Crazy Oik, Weyfarers, Acumen, Critical Quarterly, Staple, T.O.P.S, The North, Foolscap, Iota, Poetry Nottingham, and Tears in the Fence.

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