45

It matters not that in that moment I was in that moment

All that matters now is that that moment is passed

And that that moment will never return

He talks of being rebuffed by the actress

Truth is he never really made his move

He did no more than smile at her on stage

And write a few words of introduction

It matters not that in the future there is no future, no future moment

All that matters is that that future which we talked about

Was bypassed in sort of a days-of-future-past moment

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44

I am on that easy street

Warm wool socks

On my fresh bathed feet

Feeling good, feeling neat

Softer rock

With a rich, irregular beat

I have this time

To sit half still

I have a dime

With desire to fill

I think on back, to that seat

No more clocks

Nor ledgers to complete

Looking out, as if on retreat

Swirling frocks

With feelings running deep

I have this line

As if by that rill

I have my mind

With hope instilled

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43

This is one warm feeling

I don't give a fig to what others say

To have the beautiful pleasure

A calm, energised, peaceful mind

As the snow falls

And the logs on the wood-burner

Glow

And the music, on the stereo

Is as liquor on curvaceous glass

Is as footprints in soft warm-wet sand

No remorse, neither escape from nostalgia

To go just wherever that last thought takes me

As if to candy floss at the fairground

As if to that kiss, along the Golden Mile

There is no need to go deeper

All of depth is already in our memory

Or in our projections for the future

Remember Findhorn Foundation

The beach through the forest

Yachts in the bay

Walks to the pub and store

Then the road out to Ullapool

With moorland, mountains

Ponds at the roadside

With deep reflections

Of sun and moon

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42

He threw the signed copy of his book into the desert

The last place where he knew of her whereabouts

I do want to, I don't want to

I will want to, I won't want to

We did want to

Didn't we want to

I may walk, I may not walk

Did we want to walk

Where the last of the waves

Scored the descended flatness of sand

He did want to, he didn't want to

He will want to, he won't want to

They did want to

Didn't they want to

He may walk, he may not walk

Did they want to walk

Where the last of the ridges

Scanned the intended emptiness of land

It is cold, it isn't cold

Snow came, snow didn't come

He wanted to

She wanted to

It was dark, it wasn't dark

Driving in the blizzard

Where the last of the drifts

Shaded the rendered Rio Grande

With the headlights, without the headlights

Into the blizzard, out of the blizzard

Follow the red lights, don't follow the red lights

We did want to

Didn't we want to

I may drive on, I may not drive on

Where the last of the snowstorms

Waved goodbye to the tendered demand

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41

It isn't that I don't want to write

And it isn't that I don't have time to write

I have all the time in the world

Sat in this lay-by, watching the traffic stream by

I could always say that I had a breakdown

Car breakdown that is, nothing too dramatic

Or I could say that there had been a bad accident

Not that I was involved, but the road was closed

It isn't that I mind telling fibs

And it isn't that I spend my whole life telling fibs

Yes I know I do have whole pockets of deceit

Sat here, under the blue sky, in the warm morning sun

Always a friend of the silver birch

And the maroon aubergine tint to the tops of the hedgerow

Always a friend to the silhouettes of the wizened old trees

Set off by the silver sky, sunlit from the heavens

Yesterday evening, after bathing whilst reading Fante

I thought about brinksmanship

He uses that trick time after time

This time you think, make her this time, but no, he doesn't make her

He backs off, and you back off with him

Leave me alone he cries, just back off won't you

And that's exactly what you do do

Time after time

You could tell them that you don't feel like it anymore

That you have done your stint

It's time for new blood

Time to let the youngsters have a go, let them have a right go

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40

Light turns

My room becomes dark

The fire glows

I am bathed in music

And warmth

Dusk arrives

A little more slowly

As the years change over

I am easy with love

And care

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39

I am alone for a while

I smile into the log fire

Pleased, that folks somewhere

Care for the photos I have posted

If I could play the piano

I would play Ben Fold's The Luckiest

Not that I could sing along

For singing is not my strong suit either

I am not alone anymore

Joined by someone moving boxes

Beginning the tidying, on a Sunday

For visitors arriving, on Thursday

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38

He, the she part of him

Held the strawberries

In the palm of his hand

She, the he part of her

Washed blueberries

In the sparkling stream

He and she

The she and he part of them

Knelt on the spring grass

She and he

The he and she part of them

Stepped on stepping stones

In the palm of their hands

In the sparkling stream

Eating blueberries and strawberries

They stepped on stepping stones

Knelt on meadow grass

Eating strawberries and blueberries

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37

To do no more than sit and write

Let my mind fight what it feels it needs to fight

Always knowing, not what's right

But that nothing need be kept from sight

That whenever I wish to shine the light

The tightness will try to keep it tight

As nighttime falls into blue-black night

That bright day no longer bright

With such decay that I just might

Distill the darkness with sheer insight

Show my mettle, fight my fight

As with my mother I'll fly my kite

Share our love, forego our plight

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36

I drive into the mist

The trees, bare of leaf, float trunkless

Lyle Lovett's music bares my lustful mind

I have, I feel, the touch of thigh on thigh

All of that time of life saddled in one momentous rush

That I shouldn't have wanted to say anything more

All of the lusciousness already self-fulfilling the score

But believe me he says, slowly opening the ever open door

Out there, laid out in nature, the true lovers are sharing the floor

I have, I feel, the touch of skin on skin

All of that time of life, grappled in one momentous crush

Hands under warm armpits, hands over warm breasts

If ever you would wonder you would wonder the rest

Clothes straddled on the floor, beauty banging my chest

Lost lovers loving in the afternoon, whatever's next

I drive into the light

The sky, scare of clouds, float weightless

Eva Cassidy's music scares you and your less trustful kind

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35

Contemplation time

As time called by to ask me

Why not walk out

Why not watch the sunrise

Why not sit in the garden

The why not and the why

All a matter of calculation

All a matter of pounds shillings and pence

All a matter of listening to the music

Then to walk the street as Arturo Bandini

Shuffle feet in the dust

Ruffle feathers as you must

Muffled against the upper crust

Daring to be just as unjust

He opened the door

Waved to his dear lady arriving

Together they popped the corks

Of quite ordinary champagne

Why not the way

As time called by

Along contemplation line

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34

Who's stole the melancholy, who's spilt the joi de vivre

Who's listening to Leadbelly, who's shaping up to leave

The seal of her lips is broken

Words not spoken for many years

Lay festooned in the vale of tears

Who's frozen the happy holly, who's undone the fabric weave

Who's christening the wobbly jelly, who's rolling up their sleeve

The smile in her eyes is woken

Joyful token to return the fears

As waylaid by thoughtless peers

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33

What I didn't make up I didn't make up, what brought the tears was that I didn't know how

What I hadn't said I hadn't said, what brought the arrears was that that I didn't know how

Into the light and into the shadow, both so strong you wouldn't know how

Into the air and into the meadow, both so desirous you wouldn't know how

If you could feel the stillness, say it, all without words, would that you, wouldn't know how

If you could bask without ever feeling the needing, if you could but you, wouldn't know how

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32

I wake, from the sight and sound of stripping wallpaper, I know where the bedroom is but I won't bore you with the detail, suffice to say that in my half-sense stupor I feel to be in that place as I get out of bed.

I recognise that I am doing something which makes the maximum impact for the minimum effort, my heart isn't in the task and I leave it, as most things, half-completed.

available on kindle

31

I have given something up, or rather had it taken from me

I haven't found a replacement and know not what I am looking for

My own gentleness is fading amongst all the gentleness that surrounds me

Belligerent and bombastic are two words to describe my current way of going on

It's not what anyone wants, not that I know what anyone wants

Other than I have the idea of a straight line, a clear sky

A dream of a quieter place with time for deeper reflection

Somewhere to be myself, to find something there to be true

available on kindle

30

Pitch black

Out of the windows

Turning slow to light

Tree branches wave

Wild in the wind

I felt excluded

Set out to be set alone

Unable to soften

Unable to reach you

Intolerably awkward

Disingenuous

How to salvage compassion

Or best to pass on the baton

All of this before

The rains came

And the music played

All of this before

The tea and the toast

And a warm bath

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29

What then

With a new beginning

What then

With no end in sight

What then

With no purpose given 

What then

For fight or flight

Pages and pages

Books of blank paper

Thoughts and thoughts

Finding hopes of continuity

Ages and ages

Searching is a right caper

Noughts and noughts

Climbing ropes for security

What then

With a new halfway

What then

It's moving on, right

What then

If still squandering

What then

Of that second sight

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28

Some people are steady, as those beautiful waves, that lap gently to and fro, on the vast expanse of golden sands

There are also those, less steady, who like their music played loud, and thrive on explosions in the sky

Then there are the lucky ones, those free spirited souls who step easily from one path to the other; one day rich with laughter playing hopscotch or marbles, one day reflecting quietly reading their latest book; or else they are to be found, drunk as lords, with friends in the pub, or asleep on the grass verge

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26 & 27

There is a church

With a small spire

It shows a precision

Which its diminutive

Clock face signs off

—————————

One hundred Monday mornings

One hundred photographs along the way

Glimpses of the mood

Captured in that wellspring of emotion

Notes made on the road

More of the Christopher & less of the Kerouac

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25

I have been heavy handed, but

Not in a heavy-handed sort of way

More of having the will to impose my will

On those I thought in need of guidance

Some might say that I was stubborn, yes

In that stubborn-as-hell kind of way

But more I feel as a demonstration

Of my own damned and wretched inflexibility

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24

In this air, which we call our clear air

There floats at least a million dust mites

Yet only for those few moments, with the earth set on its axis

Does the light sparkle through tree and window, there

To show off the fine particles, both levitating and travelling

No worry for the coldness, it seems they are knowing full well

That when the brightness disappears then they too will disappear

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23

What is it that troubles me

No I know I haven't told you

And though I take the time to hold you

We haven't yet managed to second guess

To prevent distress I don't ask that you unfold me

No I know you are happy that I hold you

And rather pleased that no, I do not scold you

Yet perhaps it's time to probe and not just impress

Don't let them fuck you about, it is not compassionate

To be brutal, it is not clever to tear that frail

Paper when what it needs is a firm frame to wrap around

It is a tree which speaks well to me of frailty and indecision

With the precision of bonsai the branches point neither

In the way of the road less travelled, or any other road

It is a different tree, more wilful and wild of nature

With the precociousness of a night-after hairdo, which says

More about a night on then town rather than a night on the tiles

They are the real deal (and I know some people their equal)

I am the faithless pretender (and you know some people my equal)

If you don't want to be alone with me should I be on my own

If you don't want to share thatch and stone with me should I moan

Or just get on and do something about it; my purpose, to roam

I find people, I lose people, I hope one day that it may slow down

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22

We are doing all of those things that we didn't have time to do

We are fulfilling all of those promises that we didn't have time to fulfil

Yet still I retreat

Into that silent solace shell

That quiet place where I love to dwell

Yet knowing that for others it is their living hell

I am escaping from those who are close to those who are close to me

I am indicating my displeasure yet achieving less than nought you'll see

Yet still I repeat

Once again the same mistake

My inherent stubbornness it is no fake

Jealousy is always the fiend I choose to rake

We are all having fun, we are all going places, days on the beach, days at the races

We did have fun, we did follow our traces, days on the beach, those old familiar chases

Yet still in deceit

I hide deep behind the word

Driving along nudging the highway kerb

Always doing what I do, intending to disturb

We are building rooms, fireplaces and floors, we are replacing windows; drawing plans, buying wooden doors

We did construct; wardrobes, bathrooms, kitchen shelves; only then to destruct; gardens, pathways, your living hell

Yet still my mind is fleet

Always unfulfilled, inside out

Hard to whisper, harder to shout

Never committing, fearing the doubt

We are going away, to an isolated cottage in the dales, with friends, with family, with wine, with real ale

We went away, to an island hotel by the sail, taking the children, to a place where all they did was wail

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21

So many comparisons that pass me by

So many similar inferences where I am oblivious

Is this how the older sisters see their younger brother

Are his unfathomable abilities on the same plain

It is that time, at the end of the day, after an evening of reading, writing, eating and watching television; chasing opportunities for self-reflection, chasing ideas for onwards extrapolation, searching out what isn't there anymore, what most likely was neither there before. But it doesn't hurt to dream does it, and these are the thoughts that precede the dreams; these are the my self becoming aware of my most inner and intimate self. When I do go back to what might have happened, what might have been meant by those soft sensual words and tender embraces, what might I have implied from those passionate looks and the accompanying physical progressions.

So many illustrations that I can use for illusion

So many commentaries that one day I might replicate

Is this how the young boy overwhelmed his family

As his indeterminate talents exceeded all expectations

It is that time, in the clear light of day, after a morning of working and buying presents; losing, or leaving behind any detritus from the former, any joy from the latter. Such that now we one might think of oneself as a writer; not a Colm Toibin or anyone heavyweight, but as a lightweight who lets the words drop onto the page as snow might fall, without story or setting, without hook or strap line. Not even time for my self to to engage with my inner or my intimate self, for now all I do is to look forwards, towards the next virgin page, to the next empty notebook of a life yet to be lived, of actions yet to be determined, of loves and lusts yet to be chased, or reinforced or discarded.

available on kindle

20

We all lose our way sometimes don't we

I know I've lost mine once or twice

With head in hands

Wondering what's gone wrong

Pray don't let anyone see me like this

She calls me in the sad times

In the bad times of the morning

She sways me as the dust might

As the devil in disguise, soaring

And with my head I my hands

Stone cold and wondering

Pray don't let anyone see me like this

If all I ever did was write

Record songs and make movies

If all I ever did was fight

Bang on relentless drinking smoothies

So few words one to the other

Call out into the silence

See what it shall freely uncover

Under the rainbow

Still feeling blue

Always in the search

Of that beauty what's true

It's all of a fashion

To trespass on the other self

To remember nights of passion

Sat here in fading health

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19

The toys are the toys are the toys that we lose

A light goes out each time we choose

The loss is the loss is the loss that turns to bruise

Darkness is the shadow of the parting news

Some dreams don't matter anymore

Yet still the catkins emerge in December

Some thoughts forever surge and pour

Yet still the difficulty is to remember

The noise is the noise is the noise that we lose

A lamp flickers each time we choose

The eyes are the eyes are the eyes to see the bruise

Sorrow is the meadow of the parting news

Some pleasures don't hit the higher score

Yet still the snow settles in December

Some scents say bonjour mon amour

Yet harder dwell the words to send her

The boys are the boys are the boys that we lose

A candle quenched each time we choose

The sense is the sense is the sense to feel the bruise

Hurtful is the emotion of the parting news

Some hopes wait behind the closing door

Yet the dustbowl still blows in December

Some images fall beneath the boarded floor

Yet don't doubt yourself, you're the defender

Darkness is the shadow of the parting news

Yet still the catkins emerge in December

Sorrow is the meadow of the parting news

Yet still the show settles in December

Hurtful is the emotion of the parting news

Yet the dustbowl still blows in December

Some dreams don't matter anymore

Yet the difficulty is to remember

Some pleasures don't hit the score

Yet harder dwell the words to send her

Some hopes wait behind the closing door

Yet don't doubt yourself you're the defender

available on kindle