Friday, 31 July 2015

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

Thursday, 30 July 2015


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

Wednesday, 29 July 2015

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*Version*=1&*entries*=0

Tuesday, 28 July 2015


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

Monday, 27 July 2015

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*Version*=1&*entries*=0

Sunday, 26 July 2015


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

Saturday, 25 July 2015

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

Friday, 24 July 2015

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

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

Thursday, 23 July 2015

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

Wednesday, 22 July 2015

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

Tuesday, 21 July 2015

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*Version*=1&*entries*=0

Monday, 20 July 2015

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*Version*=1&*entries*=0

Sunday, 19 July 2015

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.

Saturday, 18 July 2015


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

Friday, 17 July 2015

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

Thursday, 16 July 2015

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

Wednesday, 15 July 2015

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.

Tuesday, 14 July 2015


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.

Monday, 13 July 2015

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

Sunday, 12 July 2015

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.

Saturday, 11 July 2015

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

Friday, 10 July 2015

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

Thursday, 9 July 2015


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

Wednesday, 8 July 2015

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

Tuesday, 7 July 2015


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

Monday, 6 July 2015

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

Sunday, 5 July 2015

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*Version*=1&*entries*=0

Saturday, 4 July 2015


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

Friday, 3 July 2015


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


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

Thursday, 2 July 2015

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

Wednesday, 1 July 2015


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