Beyond Reach Perhaps

Beyond the window a stillness

Beyond reach perhaps

Even if one was

To lay down naked

On the dew covered grass

Or paint

Ever so slowly

The slight wavering bush

Even to float

In an hot air balloon

Among the unanimous grey sky

Beyond the partition doors, conversation

Beyond reach perhaps

Even if one was

To proclaim

The whole of virtuous love

Or recite

Ever so slowly

The poetry of the spheres

Even to levitate

In a spiritual sort of way

Among the magnanimous prattle

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Buildings

I walk past a row of Victorian terraced houses

The iron railings have been clumsily removed

From the walls of their owners front gardens

I see a lady get off the double-decker bus

She is carrying what looks like a metal detector

I thought, but didn't say...

Were these two things in any way connected

Before I saw the lady get off the bus I was

Thinking what a small life we Englander's live

I was taken back twenty years or so, to a work

Colleague showing me his holiday home villa

Somewhere in the sunshine state of Florida

Back then it was the size and the spaciousness

That hit me, impressed me, and it hits me again

Today I lead a small life, in a small thinking country

Perhaps it is time for adventure

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Set Out, Lay Down

If it should so happen
Shouldn't I know soon enough
If I should take a stance
Wouldn't you know soon enough

Between the making it happen
And the taking a stance
Wouldn't I know that I know
Couldn't you know that I know

Between the shouldn’t I
And the wouldn’t I
And the couldn't I
I know that you know

So let's get off our high horses
Move away from the circumspect
Discard the distant therapy
Settle for what we know

Which after all is not the same
Not even for we two, who
As happenstance would have it
Could not already have been closer

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Practicalities

I feel the hot water

As I lower the breakfast plate

Into the washing up bowl

I feel the cold draught

As I open the fridge door

To replace the eggs

I take pleasure in the white shirt

And the blue jeans as I walk out

Into the frost covered garden

I enjoy the music & poetry

On the car stereo as I drive

Down the country roads to work

I remember last night's happy

Telephone conversation. I write

A few words for the record

I reach a high sense of achievement

By methodically repairing my computer

Which yesterday was entirely dysfunctional

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Renato Guttuso - La Vucciria

The market hall
Is filled with peppers and tomatoes
With chillies, and onions, and eggs
A side of beef
Hangs beside the hare
Itself awaiting the jug

Walking beside the sardines
Is a young woman
With well made legs
And a regular Italian backside
There are cheeses
And there are mushrooms

There are apples and pears
A young man, with
Brown jacket and yellow jumper
Walks towards me
He might have designs
On the young woman

That is the clue I am given
From the stall-keepers eyes
Which clearly suggest amour

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Connected

It is as though it was an eclipse

Thousands of cows floating in the sky

Hundreds of cows

Running down the track towards me

I walk through and among the raging cows

Towards a dry-stone wall

Over the wall there is an endless strip of lavender

Up to the edge of the gorge that lies just beyond

An American lady asks me to help her climb the wall

She wants to take photographs

I am at a retreat centre

On the Strines, part of  the Yorkshire Pennines

I ask the shop assistant if I could talk with the Buddha

She says he is probably working, in the garden

She says he is almost always outside

I see him sat at a table, typing on a typewriter

He gestures that he is nearly finished

He does this by using a novel sign language

Of a typewriter carriage with a flick returning

I see another eclipse type image

This time thousands of pebbles

Laid out, neat yet random, on firm and wet sands

I go back into the gift shop and say that I will wait

I come across a plastic box

There are two, torn, five pound notes

I remember tearing them at last night's party

Then throwing them joyously into the sky

There is also one note that is not torn

I recall this being a gift

From one of the many gathered well-wishers

The box also contained my car keys

And some token craft jewellery

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Twenty Year Occurrence

The light shone far brighter

The shadows stretched out far further

The warmth was rare, and fair settling

I wrote of my dream

I posted on my blog

I did not see the clouds move over

The brightness is gone

The shadows are gone

The warmth is replaced by my ears ringing

I have a few explanations for the dream

But I do not wish to dwell upon them

The clouds will keep on moving

Light will return

Shadows will return

And just by this writing

I can feel the warmth in my soul

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Right There On The Pavement

Today it was a bicycle

Parked there

Right at the shore

Your head was excluded

But I knew

That this image

Posted by dreamcamera

Was sent only to remind me

And all those other shots

Of hotels in Chicago &

Paved streets in Dubrovnik

Were simply to cloud the trail

Anyhow's

I cut through the mystery

Named it: 

The Island Shoreline

Right then I stopped in my tracks

What is this I'm writing

Another Saturday morning

Before the washing goes in the dryer

Do you remember

Clean white shirts and blouses

Soft denims

Bookstores and bagels

Bicycles, lavender, and purple

Satin negligees, or whatever

Is the word for ladies underwear

Of the sensually enticing variety

The images just keep on coming

Bric-a-brac, photographs with

Memories deeply embedded;

As if to say - nostalgia, or

Whatever is the word for division

In a world where revision brings

Sobriety to its cornerstone, with

Peace and quiet scrolling in its wake

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Self Portrait

I don't have the physical beauty anymore

I don't know that I ever did have it

But once or twice I thought I might

I have moments of pure happiness now

I don't know if that was true before

But I suppose it may have been

I don't doubt

That there are swings

And there are roundabouts

I have a peace at this time

With sunlight streaming through the windows

I enjoyed contemplation in the past although I was no master

I should be doing something else right now, which vexes me

That I could stray from this enduring love

To find a more laborious occupation

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Partial Eclipse

The light is fading

The flying birds

Skittle across the half-way sky

In search of quiet

The leaves flicker

As though a breeze

Rushes down the alley-way by

In search of light

I am taken back

To the Rock on Dartmoor

The disappointment of 1999

In search of love

Today there is more peace

Sometimes I am

That peaceful poet

In search of name

There are shadows

Of chairs and flowers

Parted together

In search of time

I take the photograph

Also one or two

Taken outside

In search of memory

It appears

To be coming brighter

A redefined dawn chorus

In search of life

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Broken Sleep

There is no police car noise
There are no sirens wailing
There is no factory vibration
Every fifteen minutes

There is a clearer darkness
Out there in the nearer silence
At this more peaceful altitude
There is an attitude of calm

Yet still I'm here and still I'm writing
At four o'clock on this morning
Yes it's true I am away from home
Where all the guns are somehow blazing

There is no whistle blowing
To the tune of traffic passing
There is no street fracas
To the sound of nightclubs closing

There are sheep in the field
Songbirds in the hedgerow
Soon time for the dawn chorus
And maybe snowdrops pretending

Because I'm still here and I'm writing
At four o'clock on this moody morning
Yes it's true I am away from home
Where the flames one hopes are waiting

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Blades & Leaves

Where the solicitors and farmers come together to drink
Where the Irishman paid the Welshman to sculpt his landscape
Where the lochs and the mountains gave life to the sea
And there was music; the fiddle players, the Morris dancers
And the flags and the bunting and the maypole and the girls
Where the night stars and the moons shone on the peacock
Where the sound system and the echoes echoed at one
Where the party people became the party people
And the clothes were bright and the clothes were torn
And the flowers were thrown on into tomorrow
Where the silence would wonder will it all happen again

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Blade Cuts

He enjoyed the pub on Friday tea times. All those fine young blades ready for the chancing and the dancing; he was cool, he new he could cut it; he didn't know though, that she could cut it too.

The frost was keen on the fields as steam poured out of the cooling towers; the river cut as a blade through the landscape, going across country from the Humber to the Severn.

He went for the interview in Fairford, with the Jewish gentleman whose father had invented a safety mechanism for helicopter rotor blades. Blades that cut through the air so viscous, so loud. He drank their brandy and smoked their cigars but he couldn't cut it when it counted. He didn't take the job.

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Feelings

The bed was freshly made

Clean white sheets and duvet

He climbs into bed

She finishes her preparations then joins him

They lay apart for a while

He senses something is not quite right

Come close my love

Cuddle up to me

Are you ok

What's the matter

Please tell me

He feels her tears, as her head lays on his chest

What are you thinking about he asks

She sobs

I was thinking about my boy

She sobs

That's ok, you need to keep on loving him he says

You need to let him keep on loving you

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Pillar Talk

You called out to me last night

You were quiet

You were grieving

You called out to me last night

You were sobbing

You scraped your breathing

I called out to you last night

Feel for love

Keep on receiving

I called out to you last night

I am listening

Keep on believing

You called out to me last night

You so gentle

Your tears slow leaving

You called out to me last night

Hold me close

Your faith I'm needing

I called out to you last night

I am here

On your love I'm leaning

I called out to you last night

We are together

We will keep on keeping

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Inspired by Images

Girls and boats and bright blue flowers

Past and present and subliminal powers

Sunrise and sunset and those lost hours

Night and day and the hope that towers

You know where I have been

You know where I am

You know where I go

You know I know of the past 

You know because I let it show

Moments and minutes and days of years

Waiting and waiting and waiting for tears

Memories and reminders and thoughts of fears

Skating and dating and mating to once loud cheers

I don't know where you have been

I don't know where you are

I don't know where you go

I don't know if you know of the past

I don't know because you don't let it show

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Package Tour

I was staying in a B&B on holiday. I had bought some tools at the hardware store on the quay, I told them I would collect them later. I had befriended the elderly son of my landlady; on the final day he asked me if I wanted to go for a walk on the moors, above the reservoir. He shouted at me to come and look at a beautiful pool of water; someone had created an underwater town, with gardens, shops and houses, I thought it was amazing; someone else was present, a woman, but I don't know who it was, I felt her presence more than I saw her. My friend asked me the time of my flight, I looked at my watch, I was late, it was already twelve-thirty. I told my friend we had to go, I would have to leave the tools behind.

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Awakening

I was walking, uphill; it was a big wide street in an empty town. A police car's blue lights were flashing up ahead. Bombs were exploding, firecrackers were whizzing and sparking across the floor. The policemen were yelling at me to get out of the way. I turned back. I went into a hostel; grey haired men, in old grey suits, all on their own, each living in their own one single room. I had seen one of the men before; I had met him in a very nice, one might even say a luxury flat, with his well-dressed close friend.

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It Feels So Good To Be Coming Home

It feels so good to be coming home

Cold clear morning

Big blue sky

Miles of open road

Charlie Haden & 

Pat Metheny on the stereo

And it feels so good to be coming home

It sure feels good to be coming home

It feels so good to be coming home

Frost is fading

Sheep are grazing

Past those grass filled fields

I hold my smile

As if to seal the afterglow

So it feels so good to be coming home

It sure feels so good to be coming home

It feels so good to be coming home

Buds on trees

Begin to show

It is of life

Of our life to bestow

Cooling smoke goes with the flow

And it feels so good to be coming home

It sure feels so good to be coming home

It feels so good to be coming home

Babe don't go

O babe don't go

Come on home

To those we know

Come on home so we all know

So it feels so good to be coming home

It sure feels so good to be coming home

It feels so good to be coming home

The traffic slows

I'm losing ground

I have the music, there is fair sound

The traffic slows, I'm nearing town

There are the ribbons, I have the gown

And it feels so good to be coming home

It sure feels so good to be coming home

It feels so good to be coming home

I cross the water

That canal to the sea

Yes my girl, we will break free

We have found love

In the deep as fathoms below

So it feels so good to be coming home

It sure feels so good to be coming home

It feels so good to be coming home

We will climb these hills

However steep

We'll lay together

Before we sleep

It is our turn to turn the neap

And it feels so good to be coming home

It sure feels so good to be coming home

It feels so good to be coming home

I drive too fast

I ought to make this time last

All those ghosts

They are the past

Let's live again, let's live half daft

So it feels so good to be coming home

It sure feels so good to be coming home

It feels so good to be coming home

To the land

Of farm and plough

To the land

Of neat know-how 

Yes my love I'm on the brow

And it feels so good to be coming home

It sure feels so good to be coming home

It feels so good to be coming home

Yes my love I've been to Rome

Where chariots raced

As plays were performed

And in the coliseum 

I touched the ancient stone

So it feels so good to be coming home

It sure feels so good to be coming home

It feels so good to be coming home

And it feels so good to be coming home

It sure feels so good to be coming home

So it feels so good to be coming home

It sure feels so good to be coming home

It feels so good to be coming home

And it feels so good to be coming home

It sure feels so good to be coming home

So it feels so good to be coming home

It sure feels so good to be coming home

It feels so good 

So good to be coming home

It feels so good 

So good to be coming home

It feels so good 

So good to be coming home

It feels so good 

So good to be coming home

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Paired Up

First there was one woman, one woman in blue; we began by flirting, then we made further advances, it wouldn't be long for we were coming on strong. Then her boss said 'let's go to the restaurant' so off they went, much to my cant.

On the next occasion there were two women, two women in blue; the one from the first occasion came up close to me, then her boss said 'we ought to book a table at the restaurant' and off they went; the second woman began flirting with me, more sensual and overtly sexual than the first woman, this one was making her intentions perfectly clear. 

Then the first woman returned, I was confused. I thought I sensed friction between them; the first woman moved very close in to me, as if to say 'leave off, this one is my man'. I didn't confirm, nor deny, anything.

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Bigger Cities

The quieter it becomes

The more I hear my ears as horses prancing

The later it becomes

The more I see the fires crimson flames dancing

Could it be the same in Amsterdam or Venice or Rome

Would we find the fire and the quiet more pleasant than at home

I walked to the hairdressers

Past the red brick shop, past the red brick houses

I saw an advertisement for a part-time job

In the department store where they sell satin blouses

Would it be the same, in Paris or London or Milan

Could the hairdresser do perms, or top up your fake tan

Dusk is slowly setting in

Do you fancy a pint, or a tonic laced with gin

Would it be the same, near or far, or wherever

Let's hold hands and breathe, yes my love: it is now or never

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Wall of Innocence

The brochure talks of camaraderie

International camaraderie at that

Though for myself

I was overcome by the fear of nostalgia

Along with a reminder of my fear of heights

For I have walked that path

Between the two carvings of Sark Island

Along the narrow causeway

Then down the steep steps

To the beach hundreds of feet below

Now I sit here; for a while, no words

Just need time to recover

And read only into the present moments

No worries, I feel ok now

The past is often an unknown place

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DIY

In this light there is real peace

Sky and breeze and life at ease

Slow formed flames in the fire

Calm the lust for lust's desire

Bold grey walls by bookshelves tall

We have made this home that we call

Those days of dust they are long gone

We sought out trust, with love it shone

Soft cuddly toys in the rocking chair

For the grandchild who played so fair

Pictures on the walls & windows too

The doves fly as they so often do

Daffodils by the 'Thinking of You' card

Life can be tough, life can be hard

But with logs laid up & candles to burn

We can move ahead, continue to learn

As that day we found these soft armchairs

We thought to search, we chose to care

Cushions, and tables, and a music stand

Statues & lampshades, all rather grand

When friends come they say it feels calm

And we watch movies sat arm in arm

On the big screen projector in the dark

As with all young lovers we love the lark

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Good; As Only I Know

It is not for you, nor I, or for anyone

Other than the the poet who wrote the words

To call it a good poem, or a bad poem

For only the poet can say, with anything

Like approaching absolute conviction

That the words say, what he as poet wanted

For anyone else to express opinion, either

Objective or subjective is, in my opinion,

Poor form, for a form that is beyond clarity

That I have the cause to rise on this point

Is down to a fine piece of work by Wendell Berry

He writes well on The Responsibilities of a Poet

He only lets himself down, as many others have also let

Themselves down, by suggesting that an observer could

Name a poem a good poem; it is not so, it never will be so

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Bun

She did not know me

How could she have

I was new to these parts

New to this kind of life

But not without talent

A strong imaginative outlook

With a clear watching brief

All here are working

Sat in line; writing, reading

Studying, copulating

With our, and their thoughts

Also, every Thursday afternoon

A game of cards in the corner

How one walks, or rather squiggles

Says something

About the workings of the mind

How one stands, erect

While fixing milk and sugar

Speaks volumes about your style

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High Life

I would never have caught it

Not in the firmament so to speak

Yet I did catch it

In the moment as you might say

That brilliant tea-time blue sky

Washing behind the pink-tint clouds

Setting up the approaching crest-red sunset

Yet you only have my words

To persuade you of the beauty

So let's backtrack

To the supermarket car park

Laden with shopping

Too busy to see the outlook

Before driving West

Along the floor

Of the tree lined valley

Then climbing North

Up the steep hillside

This was for sure a race, time

Against natures clock, which

I was certain, sure beyond doubt
That I was always destined to lose

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Mark Me

It is a decision

Yet not like any other one

In that sense unique

Which usually appeals

How to analyse the rest of life:

Which tick boxes to choose to tick

Which spreadsheets to spread out

Which actuaries to ask for advice

With such indecision

I join with every other one

In that sense we are all the same

Which I usually steer away from

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Push

Mostly I have been holding back

Most times I don't half-near say

What it is I wanted to say

There is another place where I write

Passionate poetry

Yet even there I am unable to scream

I am unable to tear

At the words of  anguish & love &

Despondency & life & pleasure &

Wonder & fun; I am just unable

I am unable, unable to find the words

That remind me

That remind me of your skin, your

Breath, your touch, you hands, your

Toes, your knees, your thighs

I am unable to find these words

I am unable to revisit those places

And on this snowy morning I am

Unable to think about how it is to cry

To scream, to tear, to rage; I am unable

Even to think of the words that might

Say these things to me, I am unable

To even think how I might beat the floor

Or beat my brains, or beat every rhythm

In my hurt hurt heart, I am unable

And as the traffic slows & the nerves

Frazzle & the head aches & the tummy

Gives rise to the nauseous taste of sick

O for those mornings, when the sun shone

When life shone, when I shone; o for

Those mornings, will I ever find

Those words again, why am I unable

Will the breath return, will the peace

Return, will the time return, will

The thoughts and the hopes, will

They all return, will I once again be

Freed from being unable

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Togetherness

Her smile is

The smile of the morning

The smile of 

One who is cared for

The smile of one who is caring

Her laughter

And that playful turn of phrase

'Just stop it' 'just stop it'

Why shouldn't I be happy

With her smile, and her turn of phrase

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Strategic

Here I find a calm, our quiet lounge

With sunlight and slow-wave shadows

The whistle of the wind

At the ill-fitted door behind me

At the smart wood-burner in front of me

Enclosed in its luminous green cave

The shadows are of the trees, outside in the garden

They move in the breeze; pardon Monsieur, pardon

Based on these moments alone the decision would be easy

You are asleep, warm

With a love, tender and caring

Gifting me this time

Gifting me this peaceful place

The doubts are of my own making, inside my mind; they move

With the dark and the daylight, they move on my man, they move on

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She Carried His Gift

I might have gifted you the flowers

You might have given me your smile

For all the miles and miles of smiles on flowers

We might have carried on skipping

Skinny dip, by the lune and by the lea

Tripping all over, away from absolving powers

I might have gifted you the flowers

You might have shifted me your smile

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Lifted

Her smile

Your spaghetti

Her life

Your Serengeti

In time to seize

Is this a pose

Did you forget me

Her energy rose

By the gift

Of the Bugatti breeze

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