When the whites of your eyes

When the whites of your eyes
Don't see the light of day too often
Then my friend it's time to call a halt
Yes when every waking moment
Bequeaths some form of escape
The time is nigh to seek gestalt
Each cringe of skin
Each sudden jitter
Listen
Listen good
Time to change
So how do you go where to look
The answer is screaming
But it is within
And no more lies will help you
Begin
Of course the biggest most damaging lie is to oneself
But also the most easy until self respect returns
Clutch not onto straws
Unless to hold them in your hands
And gaze real hard, mean something
Stare beyond the bricks and mortar
Focus your attention on the most miniscule
Be not afraid of being misunderstood
Nor of misunderstanding
Slowly now, real slow, take all of your time
Soon, soon the thinking will begin
Take a thought and write it down
Pluck another as they race across
Your myriad of disconnection's
Mix the thoughts with pen on paper
In words in pictures
And as you draw, as the ink flows
From some thousand instantaneous hits inside your head
Remember, no conception this from stimulant
No alcoholic haze or nicotine dullness
Just you and you
Move on, move on, still smooth, still slow
Reach your tips of toes; beyond the body
Stretch out to your very extremities
Turn on the music listen listen
To just one heartbeat
Amongst a hundred thousand collisions of sound
Take a colour and rub it rich
Deep into the canvas
A life in layers
Layers of golden crimson
Now pick up the silk
Soft, so softly stroke between
Your fingers and your thighs
This is you and only you
Alive to tactile sensory sensation
Stimulated within, within by you
Step now, step forward, step back
Twist your toes and smile
Learn to say, to say control
You may feel if you wish
A little pleased with progress
But progress one moment only
Know full well this house of cards
Is not yet to turn to stone
So stop stop now and work hard
To recollect
Remember that very instant
When you did not, would not, could not say no
Folding falling for fictitious viscous freedom
If, if only
Avoid if only
Build a test to test temptation
All the while fondling silk and feeling good
Each and every once you see temptation eating at your core
Work, work with pen and paper, work with thoughts and thoughts
Now decide in the full light of day
And the full light of your being
Your reason, your rational for living
Escape if you wish
But escape to nothing
Nothing more than the oxygen of you and you
Stroke the marble, marvel at the texture
Mould the ball within your palm
Say soft words, say them slowly
Sometime take time to contemplate
Two thoughts intertwined with a common bond
Molecules in mesh
Upon this creation add your idea
Try to weave your way inside
This composite
Stable, living, breathing structure
Feel feel not for a parting
But a solid bond, a point of high energy
Waiting for your fusion
This my friend is friendship
Here the lies are gone
But to enter
Your first pass is to be true to yourself
Friendship is a form of magic
Conjured from the craziest calculations
Open your arms
Embrace
Smile
Enter


a poem from the collection Watercombe - Love in Open Moorland, available from itunes by clicking on this link

Watercombe Revisited

Today I am revisiting (in my mind)

Just for you, o yes and just for me

I came alone to this place

Almost twenty-three months ago

Then, as now, the sky was blue

The river tumbled, the water splashed

Like a poet planted

Some time before the snow

Blue, blue, big blue Friday afternoon

Beside the lonely only one, the River Erme

In between the then, and the now

My own turbulence was maintained

Turbulent mind, turbulent body

Turbulent health, turbulent wealth

From first landing to final leaving

Things were always fluid and rolling

My head full of love, my body tired or alive

I was ill, I was well, I was poor, I was paid

Sheep graze these windswept moors

Lambs are born in driving rain

Alongside the gorse and the reeds

The crop cut grass pleads to grow

Those crazy beasts keep on mowing

There love-stock dropped and fawned

On the moor it’s rough yet it’s ready

Why ever should we misconceive

Echoed bleats break the cold

Waterfalls of springtime silence

Alone amongst a thousand acres

I chase another mother of nature

No more whinges or whines

Springtime springs once again

In a world beyond the shoulder

If we believe in her, she can give

a poem from the collection Watercombe - Love in Open Moorland, available from itunes by clicking on this link

One of Wait

Three calls to expect
The prospect of work
Hope of income
A return to ritual life

Between want & wait
Astride my galloping mind
I learn a little french
Le tranquil et grand et bleu

Laughter shapes movement
Fingers form freedoms
Stillnesses slowly evolve
Watch china plates on the wall

The courage of our creations
Cockerels made of clay
A figure of Capi de Monte
Trinkets from a seaside holiday

White walls, wooden floors
A glaziers gift of light
The performers platform
Perched it seems quite high

Solid stone superstructure
With doors that close just so
A place, a peace, for everyone
A consummated consistent whole


a poem from the collection Watercombe - Love in Open Moorland, available from itunes by clicking on this link

Aye lad we`re watching Coronation Street

Today on't phone to that Manchester lass
Broad, vocal, happy laughter filled the air
Her resonant conversation filled the moment
Void of anything except innocence
Happy asking directions to deepest Devon

Lad you see I think it is the simple things
That keeps speaking souls sanguine
Lately we've been forgetting
Later perhaps regretting
Though sometimes not even that


a poem from the collection Watercombe - Love in Open Moorland, available from itunes by clicking on this link

Watercombe

I came alone to this place
Almost twenty-three months ago
Then, as now, the sky was blue
The river tumbled, the water splashed

In between the then, and the now
My own turbulence was maintained
Turbulent mind, turbulent body
Turbulent health, turbulent wealth

Sheep graze these windswept moors
Lambs are born in the driving rain
Alongside the gorse and the reeds
The crop cut grass pleads to grow

Echoed bleats break the cold
Waterfalls of springtime silence
Alone amongst a thousand acres
I chase for another mother of nature



a poem from the collection Watercombe - Love in Open Moorland, available from itunes by clicking on this link

Unblemished

These are the words
I chase hereafter
The still of the bay
From my kindergarten

The larks rise
The lupins sway
Suns rays on rose-hips at play
She’d say beg your pardon

Take me to your bay
Sail me out, out your way
Beyond the fragrant bayou
Near on midsummer’s garden


The pamphlet EmbroideredCadillac from which this poem is taken is available at the itunes store for only 99 pence, click here to be connected

Moths & Headlights

We are told of haywains
Of meerschaum smoker’s pipes
Of tankards overflowing with port &
The mysterious concoctions of laudanum

The cold air of chapel
Insulates us from the sunlight
Where fanfares and swifter trumpets
Are said to have serenaded the skylark

These are the embroidered walkway stories
Told as we walked, before
Before we returned, in total darkness
Long after the deep draughts of nightfall

The cold air of chapel
Amplifies for us, magnifies our senses
Where madness and deprivation
Are said to have once permeated the ravens


The pamphlet EmbroideredCadillac from which this poem is taken is available at the itunes store for only 99 pence, click here to be connected

Cadillac Freeway

Asleep
Way after daybreak
Shake that tail feather baby
Late into the night
Stay awake

Wander
Through empty streets
Empty towns
Of starlit gowns
Frowns of missed opportunity

Your first night
On stage beside the double bass
A shot of fear; so young, so near
Say that you belong
Before the audience

In the throng, he kissed you
For your presence; so tight he led
Fed those older guys
Who bled well, gave unsaid
Their recognition

By intuition he gave permission
For untried improvisation
Another perception
As if the third immaculate conception heard
That this boy was special, this boy sure was special

Creep, as sleep your fingers weep
In the bluegrass
In the far off echoes
Of the rock and roll
You stole the solo spot

O so low you dropped
Stopped and shot into the limelight
Just on midnight, sipping
Light martini or was it bourbon
For your bit of Scottish on the rocks

We dream of your freedom
Plays on down the alleyway
You sway, o hey Joe you would have cried
By your side the finger steel glides, zing
The strings sing a secret lovers lullaby

The flowers are dried and pressed into the tunes
Runes and silver moons my fairground swoons
My troubadour, my cross Atlantic dresser
Forever June, o harvest moon, zoom
Through and along your highway


The pamphlet EmbroideredCadillac from which this poem is taken is available at the itunes store for only 99 pence, click here to be connected

Shame & Sensation

Green wheat, the sweetest day of summer
Where Tennyson heard that Byron was dead

Onwards & upwards, the next bit is downhill
Seems an odd thing to say, but it was
The first day of the summer
The corn was high or would be later in the year

Feared of shame and sensation
Odd situations, undulations less than endless
Curves of a woman’s thigh into the near distance
Into the far away fears

Steered by sunlight & hawthorn blossom
Over worked up fields of clay & sand
Ploughed, raked, drilled; the pasture, the meadow
The fair I swear maiden laid down in the soft grass

Captured
Enraptured before the moon was full
Beneath the stature of past statues
Beside triptychs of graver truths


The pamphlet EmbroideredCadillac from which this poem is taken is available at the itunes store for only 99 pence, click here to be connected

Stolen

The brightest day of summer
The age of the many mothers
Who retrace their time as lovers
On the sand and pebble beach

Hand in hand now breached
They reach for other covers
To snuff out the hidden cost
Of past obedience preached

The lightest day still grieves
With names who never lived
While ages of others lay placed
Traced upon the lines of leaves

Dreams they now need for each
Strong arms of a softer passion lover
Who heeds not for the call of mother
But plays fair, firm within his crofters reach

The pamphlet EmbroideredCadillac from which this poem is taken is available at the itunes store for only 99 pence, click here to be connected

So fair to be

Only I
See your eyes so close

Your eyes smile
Though no surprise
For paradise
I’ve found so close to be

I chose
Of all sweetness known

Not shown to passers by
Meanwhile why
With smiling eyes
You catch the mornings night

I froze
Your eyes so close

So close
Only seen by me
Your eyes so close
So close you’re only seen by me

With paradise
We chose

So close to be
With eyes we chose
So close to see
Surprised; you really couldn’t be

I rose
The light there seen in me

Morning sky
She cries; then dries awhile
Shown so found, abounds
Surrounds me with her smile

So close
We chose so fair to be


The pamphlet EmbroideredCadillac from which this poem is taken is available at the itunes store for only 99 pence, click here to be connected

Patient

Please don’t turn this page
No not yet
Please wait awhile
Just for a moment

Bear with me

Pretend to look me in the eye
Listen
To what I wish to say
Maybe elucidate

Tell me

Do you
Believe
That the little stuff
Is the pathway to the big stuff

That to say the insignificant words

Leads

To the beauty of the humming birds
If not
Do you call it happenstance
Instead of love or whatever

With this moment

Hold your lovers hand
Flash a slow smile
With happy eyes
Easy breath

Give your breath

Blow those
Old cobwebs away
Blow them to smithereens
Pleased to be

The ones in love

The pamphlet EmbroideredCadillac from which this poem is taken is available at the itunes store for only 99 pence, click here to be connected

Sweet Mourn

I have been able
I hope one day you may

& then the quick flit
From the motorway
To the fireplace
To the carpet on your landing

To find a taste
That this time came without chase
Was unburdened
By past felt contractions


Birth of a thought
Flicker of a light
Symbolisms sultry smell
Of scent upon her pillow

The weep of the willow
As she sweeps the earth
As she seeks for the leaves
That ground her singers

Singers
Of soft songs and lullabies
Who are in sweet mourn
Unable to say

Though one day we may
& that day is to be today


The pamphlet EmbroideredCadillac from which this poem is taken is available at the itunes store for only 99 pence, click here to be connected