The Whole Of Milan

I am going here
You are going there
A while ago this might not have mattered
Or at any rate
Not carried any gravitas
For lovers, washed ashore, in separate states

This is simply the grandest fruit scone
Ever placed on any triangular plate
Trig points
In a bowl of reddest
Raspberry jam
And coffee

Served
In only the way of galleries
Cafés
Grand hotels
Art Houses
And the whole of Milan

All of this
More than, or less than important
In comparison to those other ways, or at any rate
Compared to those red-letter-days
At Bureau Veritas
For lovers, washed ashore, without packing crates

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One Mile From Everywhere

One mile from anywhere
One mile from nowhere
One mile to two houses
Each with their own name
In a place also with a name
A name, and a lake
And a children's
A many children's
A many happy children's
A many happy children's garden
One mile from anywhere
One mile from nowhere
One mile from everywhere

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Before The Faculties

You wake
It is morning
The air is fresh
The cold air says
That you are alive
That your faculties are with you

That your toes
And other extremities
Have felt the iridescence of nature
Outside
Beyond the tress
And over the railway track

Where the pixies
And the piccolo's
Where the gypsies
And the gigolo's
Where the wonder-stuff
And the ticker-tape abound

You wake again
Later now
Before it was morning
Later now; before it was freshness herself
Before the cold air swept over
Before the faculties considered their curriculum

Before your toes
And other extreme deities
Impressed with your prescience of nature
Strode out from under canvas
In a clearing, on the run, always
Always on the run with the wonder-stuff

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To Have The Other Laugh

Why would you
For any other than dry skin
For any other why would you
Than your skin, save your skin

For another tobacco or another
Ounce of justification why would you
Other than your own skin
Other than dry skin

Why feed on the need to feed on another
Indeed recede your past deception
The skin deep correction it's just infection
Without your hope it's no more than that

Easier though to have the other laugh
To break down the doors of some other gaff
And crash the draft
And cash the draft

For the uniform is too finely cut
Sliced into too straight a line, refined
With stiletto heels, and the feel for a Cuban cigar
Go to Hacienda, it's easier by far

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Lady My O My

My o my, the lady to identify
My lady My o my
To indemnify shall she sweetly sigh

My, to sigh, to cry
To identify and then indemnify
The lady my o my, she saunters, by on by

My, my o my, I hear
You sigh, you cry why, I identify
I, wish to indemnify

My lady you cry, your
Slight to mystify
Why, why shall she so sweetly die

By on by, she saunters, why
Lady my o my; o pray indemnify
To sigh, and to identify; to cry my

Sigh shall sweetly she
Indemnify, to my lady my o my
Identify to the lady my o my

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If Miss Honeychurch

Hold on now
Hold tight somehow
We are so far together
We are so far
So far, so far
We are so far together

Hold on now
Hold tight somehow
We are so far together
So far, so far
We are so far forever

It was a Saturday
From far away
A far away Saturday
A Saturday
From far away
A latter day Saturday

The lady travelled
The motorways
The city streets
The April lights
The lady travelled
The motorways
The city streets
And soft midnights

The April lights
And soft midnights
The April lights
And soft midnights

The April lights
The April lights
And soft midnights

The letters and
The photographs
In between the lines

Soft pictures find
My sixpence
None the richer

The letters and
The autographs
In between the lines
Soft pictures find
My sixpence
So far richer

A glass of wine
A fine strung time
A slice of lime
A fine hung line

The whiteness of
The spotlight spire
Her eyes on fire
Her eyes on fire
The whiteness of
The spotlight spire
Her eyes desire
Her eyes desire

They shared their mp3's
With songs of buzzing bees
Way down summerleaze
They softly breezed

They wear their mp3's
In bright yellow sleeves
Off to summer seize
With care of thought to tease

Into the night
Into the night
On into the night
On into the night, and
On into the morning

They talked of all
They talked so small
In for all and in for
Fine fair weather

On the bed
Her soft laid head
With fingers spread
So tender led
Their hair instead
Combed in bed together

And holding close
This time she chose
To tread with faith unfettered

And holding close
This time he chose
To wait for days red lettered

And holding close
This time they chose
To wait for days not bettered

And holding close
This time they chose
They wait their days unfettered

And holding close
This time they chose
They wait their days red lettered

And holding close
This time they chose
They wait for days fine fair weathered

And holding close
And holding close
This time they chose
This time they chose
To tread with faith unfettered

And holding close
And holding close
This time they chose
To tread with faith unfettered

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Witnessed Conversation

Painted toe nails; purples, or crimsons, or red

Ankles; with bangles, or bracelets, laid on the bed

Flecked hair; streaks of purple, and gold, and rust

Bodies and breathing, floating into the life of trust

An evocation

Explanative with witness

Conversation

Witnessed conversation

Of our youth

Of our thoughts of death

And life

And the many ways to live it

Of music

Of theatre

Of families

And cats and dogs

Of a first hello

Wandered into

Without of

Unease

As a breeze

Though not yet of summer

Paints; colour

Richer ever than nature

Bone structure

Amplified by objects of inanimate art

Hair, a cover for all our body

Even where, we care to share the wax

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A Calm Of Love, A Calm Of Purpose

It all became so clear
Although I've watched you
For a long while
Watched you year on year

Taken pleasure in your reflection
A perception to be entirely insincere
A construction, a camouflage
Surpassing disastrous perception

Your wrinkled skin, your golden hair
Finding light wherever the music falls
Can you hear the music
More so can you hear the true affair

It all became without need to instruct
Somehow just to stand in the sunshine
By the railway line
By the overgrown viaduct

By the canal sides of decay and restoration
As old thoughts pass by
As old hopes pass by

Today there is no intoxication or reformation

Other than a calm aloof
Perhaps a calm of love
Perhaps a calm of purpose
Indifference, to the cat on the hot tin roof

On any other day no need for further  preparation
Far enough of a gaze at my own navel
Today though the clarity
Is a turning away from fear, or desperation

In place a settlement, a circle of stones
A plain of reddest sand
Perhaps there too a cactus
An oasis, with a wishing well, and gnomes

A curtain raised, under a singular light
A child with his mother; a brother with his sisters
A writer with his words
And someone, for whom he wishes to write

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Millennia Ridge

Should we take in all before the moonlight
Walk with steady footsteps
Walk over the peoples bridge
Walk over the Millennium Bridge

Should we wake in piles of Egyptian cotton
Wake with sensate satiate breath
Wake over two peoples; two peoples bridge
Ache over two peoples Millennia Ridge

Then down to a chancery garden
Down beside the sea-spray
Astride the zest of life
Where we could fake our own disappearance

For a summer afternoon
With Cezanne, or Picasso
Or Monet
On his bridge at Giverny

Would we shake our own forbearance
For a hazy swoon
With our own bare canvas, our other
John Bunyan

A smile with a skip
A hand slid softly through the golden hair
There right beside the fountain
With splashed stone flags of intimate surprise

Laid side by side in perfect fit
Touched at all points of the compass
Touched all ways on the curved surface
Of this spherical sphere

A maypole, a stream of coloured string
A garland, a smile, a chance embrace
In love with innocence
Ever with which to carry with you

No greater gift to share
From here and from childhood
From here and from everywhere
From here and always, all the way to eternity

From here and always
From here and all ways
All ways to two people's
Two people's Millennia Ridge

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What Less Use At All

I remember the last time I had
Four Satsumas'
As so do those around me at the time

Friend, I tell you
An overdose of vitamin C
Is somewhat to be avoided

But what less use at all
Than garlic, without the odour
That then only leaves the Sanatogen

And as that’s for old folk
I clearly don't qualify
So it’s to the Brandy and Babycham I turn

There you have it
That’s what it is
Tell me; would you care for a hand at whist?

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Somewhere Called Home

My words are treading carefully
For fear of saying love
My mind is skating warily
For fear of some word from above

Or some more coincidental confirmation
For already I know it
As the leaf strokes my face
I know it to be true

Yet I dare not say so
Should the truth disappear
So easily as it did at first
Appear

The careful tread
Then not to be misread
As any sign of caution
Other than the fair time to give for love to nurture

As one would give to any primrose
Or petunia
Or vacation
To a concert or a tropical isle

Or better still, we set ourselves
To longer conversations
Hand held conversations
Somewhere called home

Still there
For our words to be chosen carefully
Through our laughter
Our smiles, our tears, our faint repose

For all of that to be
Quite natural
Uplifting
It is that which we propose

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Washing

The shirts are dry and the underwear is so too
Soon it will be the time for the line of the hot iron
To discover and to deepen the colour of your blue
That blue which speaks to you as in the Speakeasy
Those Jazz nights at the Upper George in Halifax
Or down the stainless steel road at Stocksbridge's Silver Fox
A blue then with fusion links just as the Pelikan ink stains
The letters sent one by one to a close though distant lover
Or the words penned for one yet meant entirely for another

The jeans are dry and the wool socks are so too
Soon it will be the time for the layer and the care of folding
To organise and tidy making up the altogether neater you
The you that changes because for you change comes easy
As for that celebration dinner at the Idle Rocks in St Mawes
Or for high society on Ladies Day at Glorious Goodwood
The you that struts his stuff yet also poses as the flaneur
Clothes so finely cut by a tailor or by an experienced brute
Worn with a suit and a jacket over silk stockings and brogues

The morning was warm and dry the afternoon is so too
But you know that soon will be the time for the drawing in
For us to phase out this memory of summer and thus
To give me and the washing folk out there a clearer view

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Inkblot

Take that Rorschach test
Did it really show that we were heavenly bodies
Soulmates on a celestial plane
Forever compatible to our dying days
Or did I let the imagery and the initiation lead me on
Was it simply blue-black Pelikan ink splashed on velum paper
Folded and pressed to give an indication of lifelong symmetry
Yet it was not of course an exact duplication
For the forces of time and the dynamics of fluidity
Took their chance to make minuscule
Though not insignificant changes

Just as the plum tree try as it might
Cannot evenly balance its foliage
Having early on in its life suffered a terrible misfortune
Where its parent fell over and died
Leaving the young sapling to fend for itself
To lean away from the prevailing wind
To find the place where the sun shines the brightest
For the longest hours of each and every day

That I might understand this
From the science of horticulture
Does nothing to take away the fascination
Or the intrigue of that one particular inkblot moment

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Inkblot Preamble

I have a propensity
A desire almost a calling you could say
To better understand that other worldly stuff
Such that I might believe in these unexplained things
Which happen in my life which happen in my dreams

Especially if it is something which suggests
That I have more in common with you
Or that I am or maybe I am closer to you
Than might be apparent from this one world view
Which I mostly acknowledge

Also if it is something which suggests I have less in common
With someone who troubles me
Or some person
Who I for various reasons connected to you
Find implicitly…

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Blue

It is such a bloody good colour isn't it and when you read about the colour blue In Rebecca Solnit's book A Field Guide to Getting Lost you say to yourself she is a bloody good writer isn't she and after you have photographed all of the curators artworks in the Longside Gallery you again say to yourself they make bloody good pairings I should say don't they such that you go outside to purchase a black americano and a raspberry-sorbet ice cream and say to yourself this is the life it bloody well is isn't it as you sit down to look at the long field of tilled earth with the sun and the clouds shadows taking it in turn to sweep towards you and once again you say to yourself I'm so bloody well glad I came here today aren't I just now so excited you almost forget to mention the breeze which zips into your life and reminds you when as a teenager you scrambled wilful over the big-house estate walls and so you say to yourself I was bloody lucky to be born near here wasn't I to be able go to the Young Farmers dances on high days and holidays there down the road by the triangle at Cawthorne and so yet again you say to yourself isn't it just magic to have memories to look back on yes it bloody well is isn't it such that today couples and families walk up the path which you often strode down when walking here alone from your mothers which makes you think to say to yourself she was a bloody good mum and she looked happy in that blue dress now didn't she bloody well just

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Ignored

One of the downside consequences of choosing to be aloof is that you can quite easily be ignored your grateful words may not be read or at least not read by many and so very few who choose to respond

The photographs you post of YSP may not catch another viewers eye or at least not spark their imagination and the extracts of your Red Telephone Box book may not be endorsed even if they were read in the first place

Yes there are consequences of standing apart from the crowd for out of the mainstream you may well be ignored but is it not better to be yourself to go and gather your own unique thoughts in your own way and in doing so build up your own inner strength

Saying hey this is me yes here I am you can take me or you can leave me but don't expect me to do just as you do for if everyone did that how dull would the world soon become if it was not already dull because of you in the first place

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Amplification

Much of my poetry is an attempt
To amplify those experiential moments
The ones which I share with myself

Those slight glimpses of the past or of the future
Which enter unannounced silent
As a thought or indefinite as a vague fleeting image

Which require the crystal-set amplifier
Of amplification to be turned up to the very top
Such as if Roger Bacon's magnifying lens

Might be used to inspect the cell
Or the Jodrell Bank telescope may be used
To interrogate the stars or the cosmos

Imagine now if you will that deep meditation
Which realises itself as a visualisation
However with no Polaroid or such device at hand

It would surely fade as easily as it arose
Becoming obscured
By the mere transience of life

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