Move In

If you find someone
To hold you the door
If in that dream
You enter with ease

The warmth with you
Among elongated notes
Within beauty’s droves

If you were touched
Soft with excitement
If the silence waits
Long after the kiss

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Southern Belle

Wave after wave
Lap, splash, roar, crash
Yes the blue sea
Clear for the first time

Also the dance halls
Skin tight jeans
Where previous the waltz
Had been true-loves token

Cloud after cloud
Drift, layer, blow, bound
Yes the blue sky
Seen through another's line

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Percolate

In the hollows of the wind

Half quiet of night

Immersed in nature

A jubilant hermits book

Good time before sleep

Reverberations of secret worlds

Hold on; remember skin

The half smiles of love

So desperate to share

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World Music

Fine points, in sharp shadows
Ambient sounds of discretion
Any other room; past times
Always to find
Another room

Clear as light, and dark
Famously white & blue (turquoise)

Some part of a touchstone
As emerald or jade

Sharp contrast to the Jet
To the full coloured beach huts
On the long curve
Of a new found
Promenade

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Ambient Love Words

Say I love you

Yes I love you

Say you love me

Yes I love you

Say so, say so

I love you

I love you

Say so

Say so

Say so I love you

Say so I love you

I love you, so say so

I love you, so say so

Say I love you

Say I love you

Say so

Say so

Say so say

Say so say

Say so I love you

Say so I love you

I love you

I love you

I love you

I love you

I say

I say

Say so

Say so

Say so I love you

I love you

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Iceland

Taken Down

Moving out, sideways

On sleigh paths

To landing strips

Would you be there

If I were to ask you

Taken out

Moving down, sideways

With winters sun

Out to frozen sea

If I were, to ask you

Would you be there

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Kings Head

Edge of danger

You, quite excited

To place me

Outside my comfort zone

Alcohol and modish music

Rough diamonds

Minders and molls

Edge into danger

You, pushy

Pushing me

Into the middle of their pack

Rock and roll & sweet soul music

Crazed and crazy minds

Life here has taken its toll

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Don’t

Before the crescendo

Before the nightlight-doused

Songs and stories of sailors

Notes of notes, for notes

Patterns of preoccupations

Ploughed fields and the like

A desire to become foolish

Once more to act the clown

Only in defence of course

Neither guile nor indifference

To carry it off for real

Unsure enough for all that

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Faith Wrap

Into and out of the darkness

Only briefly to sidle up

To the edge-lines of paranoia

Still to search out beauty

In the scentless black tulip

Still to wonder on truth

In the words of named poets

Into, again into, into the pleasures

All hours to dream & daydream

On sounds of pianos and minarets

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Not Apart

Because of you I write
Heavens above I know
Warmth of your love
See, I smile, I glow

Words send their own fear
You give me space to show
Frightened again to throw
See, if in doubt I disappear

After another separated night
Both alone, alone as the crow
Say always to keep in touch
With love, one unto two bestow

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Past Present Echoes

All to hear

The ears ring

The wind blows

The pen scrapes the paper

The only connection

Is within

Within these words

Words only of our pasts

Our present futures

Where do they go to

My lovely

All to hear

The ears ring quietens

The wind blows louder

The pen pauses for breath

The only connection

Remains within

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Frozen Out

It is a low-cut Sunday

The newly slung autumn sun

Floods the stubble with its orange light

The fields, once fresh with crop

Are shorn; for the winter, for the plough

As lovers we slept

Under Egyptian cotton sheets

The dreams though, soon to be abridged

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Put Upon Another

Thursday lunch

Crayfish & Rocket

Watching the guy who cleans up clean up

I sit with my own frustrations

But soon I begin wondering

What are his rack-able doubts

Does he talk to himself about a past love

Is the swift sidestep

A sign of more flamboyant times

He reminds me of my own poem

The Fedora from Buena Vista

Already I hear the samba & the rhumba

Maybe he was once a galactico

On the sands of Rio de Janeiro

His sensual slipstream movements

Reminiscent...

A feel of the breeze

With the sun on your back

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Timetabled

Geometric shapes
Forged
Language
Pummelled & beaten
Silences
Whispered over the heads of corn

Take me there again
To where the light of time is lifted
Away from the lonely
Where what is maybe mine is gifted

Local
Somehow global
Revolving doors
Revolve
Noises
Shout across the crowded room

Let me escape
For certain as a polygon would
Eventually as only
A once regular theorem could

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Irksome I: A Review

Breakfast was cold

It suited the cold stories

I came for poetry

My mistake

This was more like

A chilled

Thriller writers exposé

Dan and Ruth led off

Pouring scorn

On our lack of knowing -

The pictures all hung square

Most people had been last year

I won’t be back; the breakfast was old

& it suited their over told stories

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Den

Harvest time; first we piled the bales high

On the trailer, carted them from field to barn

Sons of farmers and village urchins we became architects

Future participants perhaps for Kevin’s Grand Designs

The main space was deep inside the piled bales

The entrances, and exits, had twists and turns

Part to keep people from knowing of our secret den

Part, as Jenny says ‘to secretly discover our sexual selves’

As the winter wore on, and the cattle needed feeding

Our den was dismantled; bale by bale, day by day

First the entrance, then the exit, then the small

Cavern, which had been immense, with boys laughter

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Power Station

There was hardly any differentiation, between the mist of nature, and the mist created by the warm droplets of the cooling towers

We had left the wharf in Lincoln, good and early, to glide along the canal with the sunrise at our back

I had longed to belong to the water, and here I was on a long boat, a narrow boat, crawling through edge-lands countryside, moving freely, yet seemingly always in a straight line

You can still taste the coal; not so much as in the old days, not since the power stations cleaned up their environmental act, but, with a big gulp of breath you can taste the damp black, the sulphur is still there to be chewed upon

Any good mathematician would be able to tell you that the cooling tower walls are parabolas, or another fancy word that I haven’t used since geometry classes at PGS

Any poet would be able to tell you that they are metaphors, for beauty & isolation; and that love always dies, and one day they too will die

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Flip Aside

I don’t know myself

Although I do know

That I easily get annoyed

And that often I smile

One night in drizzle

A long way from any home

I waited for a late night bus

In a happy state of mind

One day in sunlight

Sat out on the back step

I waited, not knowing for what

In my beleaguered muddle

I don’t know myself

Although I do know

That often I smile

And that I easily get annoyed 

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Back A Life

Zodiac signs from distant times

Did you too once believe in love

On the late night bus

To the party in the field

Then along came the moment

When you felt you almost

Remembered those moments

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Labelled

Is it such a bad thing
In such a long run
To pick out one bad thing
After another

So easy to lose touch
Mostly fragile
Much too shy to say
Let bygones be

The pen now a crutch
For the clutch of sparrow-hawks
That chalk the inner walk
In place of open talk

The one bad thing
That led to another
Doubts intrinsically rose
One hope is to rediscover

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Come Back

Only if it could be said

If I could speak

With a clearer voice

I had a choice, always

But almost always

I was highly excitable

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Best Rest Yet

As if the resonance
Sounds that say
The blood is still filtered

The heart pumps to the brain
& tonight, all that is not forgotten
Can be laid to rest

As if some force or test
Surrounds our rights of way
That why with which we play

Those so dear to us, no fear
Even nearer
Doubt not, we did our best

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That Time

Draw down the night
In a room of mirrors
Paintings, furniture & lights

Let the lack of sight
Allow freedoms to wander
Free the mind to write

Of all the noises hereabout
Sounds drawn-down, quite
As if the inner world doth shout

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At Least A Billion... & One

Towards the sleep
Who knows who of you are sleeping
Not a peep
From those of you who love peeping

I take the giants leap
To the sleepers on the rail track
Learn to earn my keep
With the grim-reaper at my back

Towards the sleep
Who knows what secrets you are keeping
Not too steep
For the first, fleet-of-foot, past weeping

I take the minnows creep
To the quieter, dust and darker corner
Learn to slowly fall in deep
Become at one with the candlelit mourner

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Choice

Why then call it weakness
If it is almost universal
Where was the fork
The road it seems
Is anything but less travelled

Before the bile
Is liberated
Before sick and sour
Soliloquy's take over

Why not call it joyful
Joyful and universal
The fork of joy
Where both roads
Became well travelled

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Northbound West Facing

Silhouettes to passers by

Skylines and shadows

& thoughts to wonder why

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Compartment

Grey and silver sky

Effervescent pink

Beyond the clouds

A body of people

Where one person reads

Of a body of people

Imagine; to say goodbye, in your

Mind; as if no more

Than to place leaves on a bare tree

To think again, dwell on those two

In conversation; almost our friends

The ones we never really knew

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Character

What do I find attractive

The confident, or the confidante

A body that flows and moves with grace

Or a persona with stillness

An aura that looks down at my shoes

Then twirls its hand to say ‘futurissimo’

The Americans now seem to have less style

Perhaps because their wealth is on the wane

Black though holds its ground; the fat made to look thinner

Awkwardness turns itself into a statement 

& to be full on jet, over a red velvet cloak with fine denier mesh

Sure creates a resounding and definitive presence

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Coupled

She drapes her arms

Over his shoulders

They both wear trainers

& turn around in sync

At the far end

Of the hall of sculptures

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Curved Ball

This is more my place than yours

Whoever you are

Wherever you might have been

The seat at my side is empty

The entire bench holds

Not one more body

Out on the floor

The living intermingle

Between Woman, Man & Child

In the foreground

Two girls talk of diaries

Laughter; a third girl joins them

Their conversation turns

To places that are amazing

Behind them a Rodin & a Giacometti

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