13

I could write as if I was a tree, but I am not, nor ever have been a tree of any kind

I could write as if I was the sea, but if you inspect closely that is not true I think you will find

I could write of seas, and trees, and wannabes, but how could I write about me

I could write of those eighteen-thousand nights of making love or masturbating, and wonder at how the body is so efficacious in recovery

I could write of those fifteen-thousand mornings of waking up, together or alone, embraced by joy or pain, and wonder at the minds ability for reinvention

I could write of sleep and sex, yet still I expect, I could not write about me

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12

A pupil, a failure

An apprentice engineer

From a fault line, to a fault line

To becoming an engineer

A mind, a body, a man

An accomplished engineer

A person, a parent

A successful businessman

Only money, only income

A lost soul from the engineer 

A wanderer, a waster

Off the fault line

Of the engineer

A pauper, a reader

Not an engineer

A poet, a writer, a parent

A lover

Anything but an engineer

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Onwards And Awkwards

The young man recites Larkin - from memory

These words, the first I hear

Far from Lincolnshire; where my sky meets my fear

Far from sunshine Southwold's friendly B&B

These words, the first I hear

Where the ex naval officer's wife runs straight and clear

Thus traditions are built, prolonged, initiated

Slight use of the tools of fear

Breakfast will be served 8:30 to 9:00 prompt, no beer

Neither a chance for the pose of half understanding

Slight use of the tools of fear

We were meant to have arrived by three, that was the steer

The landlady asks if I am always so unreliable

I was supposed to phone when we got near

No need to worry I say smiling without a hint of dear

Next day she laughs as she tells us of last nights rape

I was supposed to phone when we saw the sea so near

As for Larkin, well, he will not be the last King Lear

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Walks Of Life

Yes it is a clock, a water clock

And so the young romantic

In full on beach bush hat

Is towed down the pier

By his pit bull terrier

Yes it is the horizon

Set up in a true line

With galvanised railings

And so we make our peace

With the visiting Hare Krishna

Yes it is a Thursday

And one more photograph

Of my advancing bald patch

Will tip me, tip me right

Over the railings edge

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Drone

Beneath the boards

Boards that vibrate

A sense of all but urgency

Into my shoe clad feet

Great fear of falling backwards

Into a non too placid sea

Secured by fine lines of railings

Links that do not set me free

Howl of wind, air resounds

Bound by the old engines

At the clay quarry or factory

Hymns wrung without a beat

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Authentic Voice

A pen & ink sketch would

Have captured her wild frizzy hair

But told nothing of addiction

His voice, recorded

Would have set a place for many

But told nothing of the past

A further outpost

Once again the curse or cure

Of the one alone to tell

To talk of sand, scrub and dune

Smiles from passers by

Mobiles for those most immobile

Speak of children, who argue less

With grandparents, much as writers

Who argue more, when left alone

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Wakes Week

A thousand miles of photographs

Hundreds of leagues beneath the sea

A smile, from a lady in a plastic mac

On her way towards the North End pier

Blue skies, brief blown clouds, stiff breeze

Waves; high with roll, with surf, with crash

Out there where sky meets sea, a latency

A curved line of disbelief, believe me

Forecast; the wrinkles will arrive

Sprinkled with diamonds and pearls

Whirled as a dervish of old times portal

The long clock, the point of it all; social

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Silent Time

Patience, she too wears sandals

Models made and models cast aside

Hidden doors from floor to ceiling

I, there I go again, I

All the blood, in consecrated

Circulation; all of love

The patron saint of care & patience

She too wears oilskin lookalikes

Forbidden clothes, rags for reeling

You, there you go again, you

All the good in pre-perfected

Veneration; all of love

Patience, he too wears sneakers

Members rooms and members only

Hidden codes, the keys of leaving

We, there we go again, we

Misunderstood, in desecrated

Contemplation; all of love

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Edmund

A taste of the world

From the black olive delicatessen

A saucerful of secrets

From the United Reform Church

Across the way a middle aged zealot

A man at least many more ways committed

Than the big issue seller stood by his side

He holds you with his near death monologue

A swan by the lake; rural-in-urban

Water lilies sent by the boy king

Whispers of breeze in the rooftop timbers

Rattled by the complicity of non-believers

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Beneath The Clock

The loud swung pendulum

Observes your minutes

Your hours, your days

Your lifetimes of reading

Otherwise silence

Except for wind & wave

Rant and rave of sailors

And fishermen's memorabilia

Tales of extraordinary confidence

You are a believer, are you not

Alone here in this overdue place

Of historic grace and personal doom

Time then to take up the call to arms

In the farms for unusual naval ratings

We are waiting for you to enlist

In the whist drive reading room

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Pier Head Blues

But this is more than any breeze

Gale force, or whatever they say

On the shipping forecast

Yet all the while

Sunshine bright enough

To blind the writer in reflection

You might call it wild

Myself 

I've called for a cappuccino

Which duly arrives

Resplendent on a silver tray

With jam and scones and cream

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Foundations

Spirited waves

Fearful waves

Flashes of light

Storms on the horizon

All captured

In photographs

Purposeful strides

Sprays to gather meaning

Folded with a roar

Silenced by shutter

Wildness contained

In sepia tones of confusion

To move under

Under the U turn

Under the fallen crest

Under all that ever falls over

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First Light

Quarter to seven

Unable to tell you

The colour of these socks

That almost match my shirt

Summer shades, ideal

For the seaside

Less so for the black

Horizon and brown waves

Ample space here

For a beach hut

To let, or hire

Or take freehold

Early morning greetings

I call them promenader's

Flaneur's, or wistful folk

Who whistle on the prom

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On Rising Early At Southwold

No gentle lap of wave

Not in this town

Of rebuilt choynes and

Early morning road-sweepers

Hard to pick out one crash

Amongst the relentless onslaught

A sea angered by the southerly winds

A noise as much as any other noise

Easier to dwell on the sunlight

Dancing upon the piers tall pillars

Easier, to think of you, asleep

As I crept out of the bedroom window

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Symbolic Of

There it goes

Nothing

Absolute zero

Diddley-Squat

We've reached the bottom of the hill

Found the end of the natural curve of statistical decay

There it goes

Kiss

On the seat

Name on the pier

Piss against the wind, towards the dark waves

Found on the end of the nameless progression of horizons

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Still Life

Sat at the picture window

Studying books of Beardsley's art 

& Rembrant's bulbous self portraits

Thought old age led me to forget

Road maps, place names, guides

Or even more meaningful directions

Though all made easier by your laughter

My odd socks chosen not by design

But by dotage, or better still by happenstance

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Level Ground

When I discarded everything

I did not discard the watch

Tick-tock

Tick-tock

Shock proof

The watch reminded me of you

Rooks move across the field

Gathered in rows & columns

Step-up

Step-back

The knack of it

Order not to be abused

When I distanced everything

I did it wearing these shoes

Torn-thin

Thin-torn

Worn through

The shoes reminded me of you

Rooks in flight, in flock

Swirls, loops of engagement

Roost, rabbit

Rabbit, roost

The truth of it

Absence of the sullen bruise

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Glimpse

I won't ever see you again

I don't honestly know that I saw you before

Breast, free of brassiere

Impeached by a tee-shirt

Assisted by a low-cut cardigan

Half a globe of silicone gel

Impressed

Half a bowl of wobbly jelly

Held steady

The train is due around mid-day, as always

It will arrive, it will depart

Petit athletic frame

Yet in no small way at all

Elegant, fluid, erect

Half a mind to call and say

Expressed

Half a kind of love

Warm, ready

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Vague, feint

A pub

On the corner

Only a few doors from my flat

After tea, nothing else to do

But only a couple of pints, not to get inebriated

Deserted snug room

Well worn, four-legged tables

Fabric covered seats

Old barman, with no desire for conversation

Read the Western Morning News

Killed time

Walked back to an empty home

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Flash non-fiction (never impossible to try)

It struck me, in that instant

As I drove away from the railway station

The girl, on her mobile phone

She had difficulty with comprehension

The old men in the pub; roast Sunday lunch

They had friends, newspapers, beer and conversation

Impossible thoughts lingered; whale riders

Bungee jumpers and presidents of the world

Impossible thoughts of eternity that allow

All things to become all things whatever

The joy of sharing distant yet close experiences

Explicit moment; I did not know what he was thinking

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Another's memory

There we go, parting

Hopes

Starting all over again

Bird droppings

On the bonnet

Corn high up on the hill

Words seemed

Once forgotten

Shakespeare was instilled

There we go, starting

Hopes

Parting all over again

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The long and the short of a part of my life Volume 1 Final Page

I take coffee

A croissant spread with fresh honey

Today is Health & Safety training day

Darkness came easier than silence

Insulated door pulled to

Flick of the table lamp switch

There you have it

Intense black

Complete & utter absence of light

Yet sit back, in the armchair

Hear the children call

Hear birds in the garden

Hear the wind

Whistle over the rooftops

Hear the heartbeat

Followed by the breath

Drawn a little slimmer

Stillness comes and goes

It is a pleasure

Yet to hold on to

Damn those undercurrents

Feel the need to move, to do

To make a gesture

To talk, to work

To graft

In some way, shape, or form

Hear the clock, tick-tock

Hear the car drive by

Hear the singer

On the radio

Hear the drumbeat

Followed by the love line

Drawn a little thinner

Howl, continuum of vibration

In the roof-space

Down the chimney

Also

Amongst the physical being

Just to talk to you

To think of you

Just that brought a smile

To a noisy day; worked out

In the search for ambient silence

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The long and the short of a part of my life Volume 1 Page 25

A year goes by

The sea was 

Millers visionary blue

The sky of a similar

But slightly lighter hue

Through our apartment window

The beach

The cliffs

The town

The view

I did love you

But it wasn't enough

Tired

But anxious to write

Each visit is important

Tired

But words push out

A take-over manoeuvre

Tired

But eyes close; a left field response

Known as the somnambulists defence

Tired

But happy to accept

Enough is enough

Anecdotes

At the very next table

And also behind me

The camouflage boys

Talk of deserts and landing beaches

They describe tanks

Caught in cross-fire operations

Passports to and from the war zone

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The long and the short of a part of my life Volume 1 Page 24

Beneath my bedroom window

Incognito, or leastways in the shadows

Before the call of cat & fox pervades

Incomprehensible

To be apart

On these fair fine evenings

Time to withdraw to my sleep

Set the soft words to one side

Call of time misses the verandah

Miranda whispers of Savannah

George holds her hand, say so

We may explore the Andes

We might countenance a cruise

The northern lights could attract us

But listen

George holds her hand, say so

Sculptures in the Arizona desert

Moon views from the planet Zorg

The Himalayas should draw us close

But listen

George holds her hand, say so

Call of time passes by the verandah

Miranda, beauty by any other name

George hold her hand

As I held yours

But listen, say so

Past Bodmin Parkway station

Hair stands on end

It is where I met you and your children

Sunshine in June

Two days before

Quick ticket

Fast car

Jet plane

High speed train

Tearaway taxi

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The long and the short of a part of my life Volume 1 Page 23

Moon

Kate is far away

Moon & sodium light

Such nonsense

Not to be together

In the best years of our life

Could we afford the liquor

Would we make the time

OK these nights don't turn up too often

But when they do

We ought to grab at them together

A soft touch

For the skies that drift to cloud

A desire

To take the steps unknown

Kate would like these prints

Plymouth, Devon

In the style

Of the Great Western railway poster

Bowling green bowlers smoke

Ogden's St Bruno Flake

Southern Transports motto states

‘Fresh air for all’

Plymouth Hoe

Plymouth Hoe

Plymouth Gin

Did they play with perspective

Are we also, so self, so self-important

That we miss out on the main chance

Sometimes it seems

Seriousness

Holds the upper hand

Soft words

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The long and the short of a part of my life Volume 1 Page 22

Thanks for the drift of smoke

A barbecue in the woods

Meat, red meat alive on the flames

So easily I turn to anger

Was it ever so with a woman

My girl says I don't criticise

But do I praise her enough

Boy could I take a cigarette

Tread out across the boardwalk decking

Take a steak with cold beer

And garnished tossed salad

So easy it is to drink

Was it ever so with vocation

Not hard to be self critical

But do I praise the self

With such self-sufficiency

Strips across the sky

Jet streams over the Atlantic

Smell of smoke fills the air

Efforts of a local woodland cutter

We could all make a case

Each of us is a strategist at heart

But tonight just guests in some hotel

Just lovers of natures night-time beauty

He moves away with his cheroot

So as not to offend; times changed

Thirty years ago, in Huddersfield

Or anywhere else in the western world

Cigarette ash trays and steel match strikers

Built into Draughtsmen's drawing boards

Engineers, the meekest of all the species

Most often chose not to decide

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The long and the short of a part of my life Volume 1 Page 21

Where the land meets the sky

(Almost echoes here of Larkin)

Weddings of bureaucracy are my fancy

A new tenth hole

Across the valley

Level with my window

Boy the knees sure ached

All those years ago

Up and down the fairways

In and out of the familiar rough

Graham went to Malaysia

Tim is where he was, more or less

Me, well you know, memories

Maybe it is why I write so much of mist

Why it is easier to write the words of love

Than to be the giver of love

Maybe it is why I write born of compulsion

Why the moments charge at me relentless

& all trains of thought are evidently lost

Bare skin, that always does it for me

That and the silver blue pink tinted sky

Over the hills, far beyond the distance

Hear the blues guitar on the juke box

The soft crack of canons on the pool table

Another blue blood cinema paradisio

Praise for the Tory leaders maiden speech

Yes how the country was betrayed

To have built up such debt, honestly

All the while, of this sickly verbose

Their brand new BMW cabriolets

Sit pristine in the golf club car park

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The long and the short of a part of my life Volume 1 Page 20

Yet the wisteria, in this garden also

The wisteria is anything but gone

There is a stillness today

Not a breath of breeze; the winds

Are they gone, are the winds gone

Are they gone for good

Pigeons coo; I am reminded

Of late Saturday afternoons

Out by the farmers hayloft

With Colin and Lawrence

The Tinker brothers

Waiting for their birds

To return home from France

Are their dream birds gone

Is all hope of the birds return gone

Is that sense of reference gone too

I count seven layers of detail

Between the window to

Where the land meets the sky

Cars, almost on the final line

Travel to and from the places 

That surely they must go

Sure you say, it is evidently so

It would suit me to sit here all day

Time for the book and pencil

Yet the day ahead is stencilled

Where the land meets the sky

I may gaze out of the meeting room window

Hear the rumble of aeroplanes destination bound

I might even lose my concentration

Settle this one time for unconditional ground

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