A cheap choc-ice
A Christmas card
For the benefit
Of retired jockeys
A piping hot
Cup of tea
And the wood-burner
So so fully alight
Such a rush
Out of the evening nap
Such a world
To break into, or out of
Taken to ones doze
With words about William Wordsworth
With words about Thomas A Clarke
With words about Frank O’Hara
Such a literary stroll
Towards the light sleep
Such a poetic saunter
To those moments of grace
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I cannot watch my thought
Rudolf Steiner says so
Yet I can watch the dust mote fall
Through the air as I write this
Yes I am able, to watch, and to write
At almost one and the same time
Yet, to view that thought just then about you
No, no that is no longer possible
I could go back further in time
Maybe find a photograph for reference
Yet however strong the concentration
That thought, in real time, would not be visible
Yes I could imagine walking, on firm rippled sands
Even to be running, towards the Machair, in the rain
Yet, as I think I thought these thoughts
I cannot see my own thought processes
I will myself, to make certain things happen
And already you may know where this is going
Yet it seems that I cannot help myself
No matter that I cannot see through to the thought
Yes, nostalgia may interrupt, or interject
Messages might arise from deeply buried memories
Yet no amount of persistence, or even shadow boxing
Will let the ether of me, see the fading thought of you
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The air of past permissions
Rings quietly anew
No amount of indecisions
Can taint the favoured hue
O ship of ice
O sky of blue
O tumbling spice
O pray be true
The fair of cold collisions
Rings quietly anew
No count of derisions
Can paint the boarding crew
O ship of ice
O sky of blue
O tumbling spice
O pray be true
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How easy it is
To change a word or phrase
Either to save face, or
To create an entire new meaning
How insincere the lead pencil
Which allows the eraser
To make disappear
What once was gifted
So, in the next book
A return to pen and ink
Once more to go down the tramlines
To a certain, if unreachable, destination
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Sat
With my arm on the warm radiator
Waiting
For my tea-time meal to be served
There you have it
In my 65th year
Not too too cold too too often
Not too too hungry, or anywhere near
So, a charmed life
Do I hear you say
Or an ordinary life
For those who know me better
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