Tuesday, 31 October 2017


I will order another coffee, in a few minutes, but for now I am indulging myself with the peaceful quiet. Even within myself I am almost peaceful, almost quiet; yet still alive to beauty, to the beauty of people and their places, I have just watched a video of my grandson Thomas, singing happy birthday to me, from his holiday cottage in Wales.

Earlier I had the luxury of five snoozes, each with its own set of dreams, each with its own trail back to my youth, each with its own knowledge, good knowledge, that another snooze could so easily follow.

I am at Carsington Water in the Peak District, it is very cold, and very beautiful. I walked around, took photographs; through the stones on stone island, took photographs; of the birds, in the water, and in the sky.

A second cup of coffee, but no second cake, those days are over. Sunlight falls onto my table, and reflects brightly from the aluminium chairs and tables outside on the patio. The sun forges a thick, bright and solid stripe, straight down the water towards me; I am reminded of the song Do You Realise by The Flaming Lips.

I thought that today I might write something deep and meaningful, for I am reading Paul Auster's The Invention of Solitude at the moment. It is a memoir; the first part being about his father and their relationship. He claims to have had little rapport with his dad, and I think that mine, and my father's relationship, apart from a few sparkling moments, was much the same. I couldn't tell you much about my father's psyche, or what he thought his raison d'ĂȘtre was.

Suddenly, a slight darkness comes to mind, and I declare that today I will not try to remember anything that I don't want to remember. I will try to stay on the path of the ethereal light.

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Monday, 30 October 2017


Long shadows
Ice cold, zero degrees
The waves lap
I shoot a short video
Later I might listen
To British Sea Power
Being sat by your side
On our sofa-settee
Watching their video

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Sunday, 29 October 2017


The cafe, all to myself
It is how I hoped it would be
Except there is no verandah
Overlooking the rippling water
The coffee is neat, and the cake is ok
It isn't brilliant, but it could be

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Saturday, 28 October 2017


Big blue sky
Golden, Tate & Lyle, sunlight
The farmer, with his muck-spreader
Has been here before me
To the top of the hill
Long shadows, dry stone walls
A caravan in a cold cold field

Down the hill
Round the corner
To see that long stretch of water
To the maker of puddings and cakes
Stones, and walls, and geometric columns
He strolls past fire pits with frozen fingers
Talks of snow and ice, beside expectant geese

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Friday, 27 October 2017


One day, by the water, by the woods
Trying hard not to think
Of being beside the sea, on the beach

To drink in the nothing of nothingness
Silent in these silent times
Of no one here to share the day, or night

It is a chosen celebration, a rehearsal of sorts
Force beyond the force
Which settles, without thought, for the status quo

So with a pen, and a pencil, and a closed
Or ever so slightly open mind
Let the weather join in, and the love be with you

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Thursday, 26 October 2017


Ann, and Anne, and Christabel-Maybelline
How to know what it might mean
Lynn, and Linda, and the younger Rosalind
Looking back how might it seem
Joy, and Julie, and Mary a once May Queen
I was so vibrant, I was a teen
Hazel, and Yvonne, and that flighty Christine
I was unsure, was this a dream
Jane, and Jill, and the vivacious, yet older Irene
What should I say, how to redeem
Vicki, Valerie, and the lively vicars daughter Jean
A test of memory to know where I've been
Desiree, Dinah, and way too easy, one-night Celine
Flowing so easily in a semi-consciousness stream
Pamela, and Susan, and the impressionable Angeline
All of this before my interview with the college dean
Carol, and Karen, and the debutante Jacqueline

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Wednesday, 25 October 2017


Three vestiges of sleep
To steep, half-dreaming, half-waking
Shaking round the youth I keep
Half-forgetting, half-forsaking

All alone and all together
Oft misused; best, yes, forever
Now's the time, now or never
To trace the steps, reboot the leather

Time is time, and time is ticking
Reset the alarm, rework the knitting
Were we stood, or were we sitting
At the party in the midst of middling

Another neat volume, of plain pages
Another fresh mind, one that still rages
All the while he seeks out the sages
Living inside the teenage cages

That we might reach who knows where
To find ourselves without a care
Live a life to stop and stare
Will he doubt or will he dare

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Tuesday, 24 October 2017


In the library I was in the park
In the park I was on the beach
On the beach I was in the bookshop
In the bookshop I was having dinner
Having dinner I was making love
Making love I was settling the bill
Settling the bill I was thinking of yesterday
Yesterday I was thinking of tomorrow
Tomorrow I will be fighting
Fighting the fires once more

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Monday, 23 October 2017


I have a desire to go
Someplace to be
Maybe to bathe in nostalgia
Or glow for the first time
In the immediacy of flirtation

I have many places in mind
But what of those
Of which I don't yet know
How should the search begin
What sparkle should my eye wear

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Sunday, 22 October 2017


What I have
Is what I never had
What I now hold close
Is that where I didn't
Ever reach a closeness

Closer then than ever
Even without the knowing
Thus to hold tight onto
All that you gave, all
That I could not take away

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Saturday, 21 October 2017


I once held the key
Carried it wherever I travelled
Loose, in denim jeans pocket
Close to the desires
Which desired to be unlocked

Earlier I had knocked, on
A few doors, so many doors
Pouring out stories, and gifting
Gifts with the ease, to tease
That which becomes sacrament

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Friday, 20 October 2017


Neither in the making
Or the breaking apart
No point in raising stakes
For already it is a broken heart

Straight lines and primary colours
As if by Mondrian from the very start
No more might Piet be her brother
Beside the surging River Dart

Impeccable if not indeed precise
Serving Martini, Vermouth chilled with ice
Nothing if not respectable; a career
That careered without a single vice

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Thursday, 19 October 2017


So far is far away, so far is by my side
So near is nearer now, so near, here for the ride
Into the canyon
Out of the stream
Into the desert
Out of the dream

So long is longer gone, so long, gone again
So time is timely now, so time, to dance in Maine
Into the starlight
Out to the moon
Into the heavens
Out there in June

So distant is distance, so distant, to define
So yearn as if yearning, so yearn one last line
Into the meadow
Out to the falls
Into the moorland
Out to the calls

So future are futures, so future, by the by and by
So hope for the hopeful, so hope sees the sky
Into the arms
Out of the alone
Into the embrace
Out of the stone

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Wednesday, 18 October 2017


I ought to have risen early
What with the end of Arturo Bandini
And the poem by WB Yeats on my mind

As it is I meet the sunlight
And the raindrops, and the wonder
That life might play so many games

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Tuesday, 17 October 2017


I have no more idea of why than I do of why not
All I can say is that the choice was limited
And the opportunities for foraging were scarce
Yet, at that time of life, I was a business winner

I had studied mathematics and statistics
I was au fait with the odds, the chances of success
David against Goliath was a role I often played
Sense and sensibility having not yet been offered

But, just as the sunlight falls, on the painted twigs
I saw a shaft, an opening, a pathway, a reflection
Of colour, of beauty, of vibrancy, of joy
And that's it; I had no more idea of why than that

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Monday, 16 October 2017


I am at one, here in the present
Stoking up the fire with logs
From under cover out in the frost

I was the lucky one, then as now
Finding a shoulder to rest my arm on
Whispering sweet nothings; nothing no more

In search of symmetry
I recognise that the wood storage boxes
Need their own force of realignment

And where did that fine light go
Did it sink back into the heavens
So I suppose; I suppose nothing no more

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Sunday, 15 October 2017


I did take the photograph
Yet already I know
The light will not be the light I saw
The dust-mites will not be picked up
As they dance in the light-beams

Neither will my yellow socks be apparent
Nor my Ralph Lauren daffodil rugby shirt
Which reflects my peace of the moment
And so, for clarity, I will write to you
Of snow on the neighbours tiled roof

Whose curved ridge is the last line
Before the shimmering blue-silver sky
I will tell you that the doves, and the crow
Enjoy your mix of bacon rind, and muesli
In the wind, and the cold, of mid-winter

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Saturday, 14 October 2017


The afternoon is almost over
Pink light graces the sky
Settled snow, on leaves, on branches
Operatic music stills to naught
He wonders
Not what would have happened
Had he followed a grander course
Been a sharp-suited risk taker

But with ears ringing continuously
Even as quietness falls
He recognises, happily
That this is the kind of peace to care for
He was going to say; quite happily
But he stopped, thought a while
Then upgraded the rating, as though
He still worked for Standard & Poor

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Friday, 13 October 2017


Such a light falls on the stove
The ashes glow stronger than the embers
The flames disappear into the fiercer sun

Yet outside, the skies are pitch black
The ground is covered with snow
Seems it would be good

To roast an old chestnut
As flies of white ash pay homage
To yesterday evenings blizzard

The quiet meditation
And the harmonious chanting
Smooth a path for any further revelation

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Thursday, 12 October 2017


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 there is no future, no future moment
All that matters is that that future which we talked about
Was bypassed, in a sort of days-of-future-past moment

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Wednesday, 11 October 2017


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 the 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
Where hope is distilled

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Tuesday, 10 October 2017


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
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 to the 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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