He’s 83 years, my dad.

He’s sometimes good and sometimes bad.

But, really he’s the only dad I’ve had.

He hides things now. For a living. Almost.

His keys. His wallet. His television remote controls.

“So’s nobody can pinch them,” he says.

“Y’know. When they sneak in during the night.”

They work on a nearby construction sight. The invisible five, unknown to the police.

He’s beaten men in the past.

But somehow that beat wasn’t meant to last.

He sits on his teeth, sometimes.

I think he’s trying to keep them warm.

And once they were in his bed.

Top and bottom set.

But they weren’t his, he said.

I worry he’ll bite himself on the bum, eventually.

The woman died one night… gave the paramedics a fright.

Sirens and blue lights everywhere.

Only… there was no one there.

Nothing’s ever there.

Or ever pinched.

Not even the lifeless body of the unknown woman.

She’s known to the police, because he tells them about her whenever he calls them.

It’s all false.

The teeth.

The alarms.

The works.

So that proves it’s true.

Like Donald Trump. My dad keeps smiling.

Wherever his teeth are, they smile!

I spend most of my life unseen,

Blending in.

Invisible

And unheard.

I can’t get served at the bar

As I stand

Waving my money

And half- stammering my order.

I tell stories nobody hears

Past the first two lines.

Distraction for them

Makes me disappear,

Replaced by a phone call

A shout, or a better voice.

I’m used to it now.

I used to try

To rise above

And make them see me

But not now.

Except…

Except when they need me.

When the crisis looms

Or the job needs doing

Or something unusual comes.

Then, suddenly

They see me.

I become

Mr Uninvisible,

With my Super Power of ‘being there’.

I don’t mind.

They need somebody like me.

An invisible ghost, floating through their lives.

But always

There.

Lie on the sand

Of some half deserted beach

Softly Kissing

Not hidden from view.

Touch in some places

Usually out of reach,

Softly kissing

The newness of you.

And this could be the start of something.

Some might call it love.

Me, I’m just kissing you softly,

With the blue sky up above

On the sand

Of a half deserted beach,

Not hidden from view.

Memories hang

Over balconies of time

Draping the future in my past.

Sometimes blowing,

Unfurled,

Banners of triumph.

And sometimes

Drooping,

Lifeless,

Reminders of failure,

Strangling time,

Wrapping round my hopes

Of a better way,

Or of escaping from today.

Balconies of time

Draped in memories of mine

Wrapping up the future

In my past.

Week to week, day to day, hour to hour, minute by minute, second by second

How do you live your life? Are you fully in the present moment?

Or are you stuck in your past, reliving things that have already happened and cannot be changed? Ponder this: the past is called the past for a reason. When you dwell in the past, it becomes your future.

Or, is it that you cannot stay in the present moment because you are worried about the future? Worry does nothing but add lines to your brow. Picture this: take your worries and place them high on a shelf, so high that it takes a ladder to reach, and then throw the ladder in the trash so that you can never reach that shelf again. Sometimes your eyes may flicker up, but, that's ok because you know you cannot reach your worries anymore.

Staying right here, right now, living for each moment may not be the easiest thing you've ever achieved; but once you've attained this higher level of living you'll never want to look back. Some people call it being present, I like to say: living for the minute.

Where do you reside?

She was there when all you had were tears. She knew what you needed and calmed all your fears. Before you could speak she knew all you had to say, All she need do was look in your eyes, it was simply her way.

Then as you learned how to speak, crawl and walk, She followed each step and wouldwatch like a hawk. Each scrape to the knee or fall to the ground, She'd scoop you right up never looking around.

Just one little kiss could put out all those fires, Until Junior High where the stakes grew much higher. Mean girls and bullies, the nightmares of all. Yet once safely home in her arms still you'd crawl.

She stopped being able to watch all your moves, But slowly allowing you to learn your own groove. Independence has a way of squeezing its way in, Causing you to want to grow up much faster than she did.

And then that day arrived, certainly all too soon. Suitcases packed, goodbyes were all said. She smiled and told you to "we'll still be sleeping underneath the same big moon", Then kissed you softly on the head.

Off on your own, Is that not what you longed for? But, oh, why must this hurt so? Why all the tears? If only one more time you could walk back through that door, To the place you called home for 18 short years.

Don't fret little one, you are never a bother! You are welcome home any time by your sweet, loving mother.

Take me to your skin.

With sweat

And leaking pores

As we move as one

Joined at hips and lips

Our feelings,

Raw emotions,

Unite our thoughts.

I’m in your mind

And heart

As stars exhale their pure white light

To blind us to the truth

Of our love.

For only when we kiss

And join in love

Do we truly feel as one.

By day you have no interest in my life.

And no awareness of my daily strife.

So lie with me each night so I recall

Whatever did I see in you at all?

In between situations. Treading water, or maybe finally learning to swim. Writing. And wronging. Leaving; belonging. Loving and learning. Missing and yearning.

Returning to old with a brand new world. Mystified, mysterious, funny and serious.

Inexplicable and unexplained.

Happy and pained.

Blameless and blamed.

On fire, inflamed.

And the rest...

(I wrote this for a Challenge about your current situation. But the limit was 15 words (exactly) so I moved it here.

Broken pink rose petals

tucked away safely

in between the pages

of an old, tattered romance novel

that no one remembers exists.

-an accurate description of me.