In the words of John and Paul
And all of those
Who chose not to hear
In the sense of lost control
As we presuppose
There is indeed a life of fear
If the day should fill your soul
Set fair to fully oppose
That which could easy disappear
There, with troops and wherewithal
An idyll to compose
To see the sea, so far, so clear
Yet doubt you might, and doubt is all
In the ability to foreclose
On all that’s wrong, and all that’s nowhere near
I retrace my steps
Perhaps
If I had bought a blue pencil
Or an orange pencil
Then the lost cap
Would have been easier to spot
I will buy a blue pencil
Or orange
Or whatever bright colour they have in stock
I won’t buy another black one
That would only seem to compound the error
I slow down
In search of my pencil cap
I hear the singular warbler
I hear
And then see
Another aeroplane
I hear
But don’t see
The cars on the coast road
This is a well trod path
One day a little child
May come across my pencil cap
And may ask its parents
What sort of person
Might have left this here
The child’s parent
If mindful, and imaginative
May tell a story
Of the old man, from far away
Who came here one day in winter
To write, and take photographs
In his excitement, also due to
His inability to do two things at once
He lost the pencil cap
And no matter how slowly
He walked the muddy path
The cap was not found, until today
One might call it graceful
Except for its sound balloon
Some way behind
Some way to the side
Should one write
Of still finding the sound
Should one write
Or take photographs
This place is nineteen minutes
From my home
As long as I too am prepared
To add to the urban traffic noise
Once again I have lost the tip
Off my favourite pencil
This time though I fear
However lateral my exploration
Or thinking, the top is gone
My peace is shockingly shattered
By a scruffy little dog
The owners words not mine
One side is at peace
One side is a riot
Straight ahead
Lies the pathway to the sea
Down below is sodden earth
Up above is aircraft sky
Straight ahead
I’ve heard the curlew cry
