BBB Poem 50

You reach for the unreachable
Yet are unable to haul the boat ashore
You turn to philosophy
To other men's observations
Yet you say that you are indifferent
To the indifference
It is only a superficial statement, nothing at all
To do with the reflections of love, of poetry

You would take off your shoes and socks
Roll up your cotton chino trousers
Stride out into the water, wilful
To haul the boat ashore
Yet the vessel is empty
She is in there no more
Nothing now but the defections
The deflections of love, and poetry

Instead you sip your cold coffee
Rock a little while, in your rocking chair
Nothing now is nothing, nor as it ever was

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BBB Poem 49

I expect many things
When you receive the book
But most of all, yes most of all
I expect the unexpected

For you to be surprised
By my surprise
Would be more than ok
Way more than ok

For you to be ambivalent
About the content
Well I could understand that
It's been a long time after all

But for you to be in denial
To return it without reading
(Which is what I do expect)
That might clear a few horizons

Though for you to take a care
To read the whole thing closely
Pointing out any mistakes
Would be a truly welcome outturn

And for you to be pulsed with joy
Your emotions openly rendered
To a time ever to be remembered
Then that I would love to know

For you to feel the love
Maybe even to share the love
As once I believe you did share love
For that a telegraph would suffice

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BBB Poem 48

The picture isn't especially good
In fact it edges towards pornographic
But doesn't quite make that either
The caption though, the caption lifts it
His hand is fumbling for her crotch
‘Mine, he whispers’
‘Yours, she breathes’
I have no choice but to save it
That is to write down this memory
Of how, for once
The words were worth a thousand pictures

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BBB Poem 47

Maxim is the real deal
I am the great pretender
He writes for a magazine
Makes covers; for books
For LP’s, and CD cases

He is a renaissance man
Looking after the children
While his wife goes to work
Fiona, Maxim’s wife
Is also the real deal

Soon she will have borne
Her fourth impressive child
Also, at our writing group
She continues to set
A most unique standard

Kate, my partner is the real deal too
She married Maxim and Fiona
By the river, outside Hubbards Hills
And again, this time in the park, where
The wedding couple arrived on a tandem

Kate is a renaissance woman
Once an NHS IT project manager
With little knowledge of IT
Now she is an humanist celebrant
Who knows lots about humanity

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BBB Poem 46

I had no intention of jumping into the lake
Anyway it was winter
And I had just left the warmth of your bed
Ok, I had left it for the last time
So I was a little despondent
But me, jump in the lake, no, never

Of course I was sore
That you had asked me to leave
Yet, for the very first time
I saw the frost, in the hollow
On the fifth green of the golf course
But me, too sore, no, never

What is the point of continuing
If you have already made the point
But I will continue
I will reinforce the hurt, and the heartache
Of leaving you, in your warm bed
To think, what is the point of continuing

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BBB Poem 45

The dew is on the grass
Yes I know, I am missing two syllables
But I am singing their song already

The sand is on the beach
Yes I know, that line is not even in there
However, the past is all I have to teach me

For don't you see, no now don't you
The light, so early
The light so surely transports you

For with a tune in the head
And a pot of tea in the hand
God damned youth I wished to kiss you again

Restrained, minimally, as I am
By being the only existentialist
In the room at the moment

If only the Everly Brothers
Had been around
Their sound might well have saved me

Bade me not to walk barefoot in the grass
Nor to pass up the chance
To dance the night away, dance the night away

Yet, all in all, the call has to be made
That it's been a good year for the roses
Highlighted by walking out in the morning dew

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BBB Poem 44

First I felt the lack of light
As I stood at the stove cooking dinner
All the while listening to Craig Finn
Sing from his album
We all want the same things

Last night he saw something
Which he didn't see coming
But I can tell you, I knew that this night
The rains were on their way, and the deluge
The downpour did not in any way disappoint

The double glazed French doors
They took the brunt of it
Yet the advertisers feather would still float
The designers, the manufacturers, the installers
Should be proud; the weather was kept at bay

The torrential rain continues, sounds arise
From all sides of the house
And from the rooftops, where
The chimney pots are also getting battered
Yet, from my Harris Tweed vantage point

I can see a patch of silver-blue sky
Away out in the distance
I can see through the shear vertical raindrops
Yes, the Union flag hangs limp, lost on this day
But the blossom tree says; I can handle this

Though that is before I see
The first streaks of lightning
Closely followed, by the thunder’s rumble
The silver-blue sky smiles, as if about to say
Come to me now why don't you, I am waiting

I think of the passions
And the longings
I think to the desires
And those many other destructions
Long now gone

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BBB Poem 43

I feel altogether elemental
No, I know it's not the right word
But I have to claim something
Claim the erectness
Claim the fluidity of the moment
In stocking feet, gliding faultlessly
Over the wooden hallway floor
I am here, I am now, I am mindful
That to feel so good is a wonder
Which I ought to breathe in
Which I ought to breathe out
Time, and time, and time again
Of course there are rubbish bins to empty
Dishwashers to unload
New CD’s to be loaded onto the computer
But hey ho
Already today I have watched Lachlan Goudie’s
Awesome Beauty, The Art of Industrial Britain
Which both confirmed my love of nostalgia
As well as my belief in the future of youth
The future of humanity
Who have lived in, and still do live in
A life worth living

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BBB Poem 42

Right now I am sat
In a chair, in a room
With nothing pressing to be done

What would it feel like
To sit in another chair, in another room
With nothing pressing to be done

I think of Buckfast Monastery
Sat in a bedside chair, in a visitors room
With nothing pressing to be done

Rapidly then I think
Of all of those chairs, in all of those rooms
With nothing pressing to be done

I wonder what it means, or feels like
To sit on a chair, in a room
With nothing pressing to be done

The pleasure of the sunlight streaming
As I sat, on a chair, in a room
With nothing pressing to be done

The restlessness, caused by the grey clouds
As I sat, on that same chair, in that same room
With nothing pressing to be done

Allowing the dullness of weather to affect me
As I sat, on a chair, in a room
With nothing pressing to be done

To see the red leaves, brightened by the rain
As I sit, on that chair, in that room
With nothing pressing to be done

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BBB Poem 41

It is the day when I said I would start walking
Of course it is raining, but only a fine drizzle
Yet still sufficient to delay my departure

It is the fifth day of the cricket test match
Between England, and the West Indies
Much had been made before this game

About the poor state
Of West Indies cricket, some
Said terminal decline

Yet here, on the final day, they are
Still in with a chance
Albeit some say, a small chance

Seventeen minutes to go until lunch
Two hundred and fifty runs
Are needed for victory

Or eight wickets have to fall
Before defeat could be
Some say would be, confirmed

All around me
I have distractions
To save me from the walking

Yet it is the cricket commentary
Yes, TMS is the itch
Which I simply cannot foil to scratch

I ought to tell you
That I recently bought a cagoule
Especially for

Changeable weather such as this
I see it now staring out at me
From the chair back

The LBW shout is given not out
My new coat’s shout
Is given not out

The Test Match Special team move on
To discuss ways of playing bridge
They too are also so so easily distracted

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BBB Poem 40

Are you the one who
Cries out for the heartache of love
Do you seek
The let's make up and move on of love

Is it you who
Fashioned the doubt and the despair of love
Do you truly
Desire the nay never a care of love

Can you not be the one
Who says back off, and beware of love
Are you the one who
Goes after the smouldering stares of love

Do you seek
To hear the screams, for the sake of love
Is it you who
Listens, longing for the soulful song of love

Do you truly
Inspire the dare, for the lingering kiss of love
Can you not be the one
Who holds the painful hit and miss of love

Are you the one who
Who is fearful of the diss, the distance of love
Do you seek
To tour the alps, to savour the swizz of love

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BBB Poem 39

There is a fine drizzle
After several days of dry weather
The water butt is slowly filling
Following several days of emptiness

The grass is dampness over dew
And the petals gather droplets
The woodpile is also overcome
From tinder core, to surface damp

The cricket match carries on
Into the fifth day, at Headingley
The result is still in the balance, pray
A conclusion is reached before the rain

There was a fine drizzle in the North
After several days of neat Jersey weather
The night time bus stop was mine
After several hours on the darkened train

These thoughts are of lightness over blue
As the memories of old push on in
There is a family where I am going
There is a family where I have been

There is a big-game football match
This coming weekend, at Hillsborough
I will be welcomed back after my absence
Though no conclusion I fear is expected

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BBB Poem 38

I look at thousands of images on Tumblr
In the public realm
Then I find one of you, in my private collection

I read hundreds of inspirational quotations
Offered to all and everyone
Then I find a poem, for you

I listen to dozens of my own written words
Recorded over time
Then I hear your voice, on a ferry

I have a book delivered, by a courier
On this day of fine rain showers
I decide that I will find one for you

I aim to take a bath, to soak, and meditate
To contemplate upon my navel
I think of our bathroom, where peace reigns

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BBB Poem 37

It is you who keeps me warm
Not the loose words
Written of, or for, anyone other

It is you who saved me
From the eye of the storm
To become my real life true lover

It is you who I have to warn
I have somehow to be, to be
So pray, be light, do not smother

It is you who makes you torn
Better not to analyse so, instead
Let love help you, to rediscover

It is you who I wake by in the morn
You, who brought me to your bed
To watch, as slowly I did recover

It is you, whose doubts I duly scorn
Whose mind and body, when held firm
Gift the light, gift the leave to suffer

It is you, who waves to me with smiling eyes
You, with your once tearful eyes reformed
The love to build us up, the way to be tougher

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BBB Poem 36

The stillness of the early morning
As seen over the corner of the roof
Of next doors bungalow

It is still because it is early
It is early because I woke early
Not though to see the stillness

Nor particularly to listen to
Tallulah Bankhead, reading Dorothy
Parker’s poem Telephone Call

O what a performance
O what a performance
O how early in the morning

Awake as the light broke
As the darkness gifted the day
As the day took over

And said to me
Look at the roses
Look at the garden, which is still

It is still, because that is how days do begin
Days begin that way because I wake early
I wake early because how else

To catch the stillness
To feel the stillness
To record the stillness

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BBB Poem 35

I saw images
Call them visualisations if you will
Indescribable objectivity
Shrouded in mists
With several layers of substance, and shadows
A monochrome display
Yet with tone
Yes with lots of tones
Tones to set the spirits dancing
Tones to bring the meditation to life

A meditation on love
A meditation on breathing
A meditation on those most important words
I am here for you my love
Darling, I am here for you now
I was in the present moment
The suns heat warmed my painful shoulder
I was sat before the thriving plum tree
Which I had rescued a few winters past
Whose fruit was now coming to fruition

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BBB Poem 34

He did not mean to complain
In point of fact he did not complain
He simply made an accurate observation
However, his life was a life lived in pain
And so it was not unnatural
For his first thoughts to be thoughts of pain

In that idyll, in that peaceful village
His home, for many a year now
And hers too, for only a few years less
A togetherness of life, of a life lived together
Yet all the while his limitations limited
His adventures, his day by day adventures

The doctor called by, but now travels widely
His friend, and her partner, had called by
But they had not returned, not yet returned
Which he was sure they had promised to do
But of course they led very busy lives
With families, friends, and circles of society

He did not mean to sound bitter
In point of fact he did not sound bitter
He was matter of fact, straight to the point
However his life had minimal visitations
And so it was not at all surprising
For his first thoughts to be of a relaxant

With easement, in this place of inhaled calm
His passage, his journey was partly fulfilled
And hers too, to see him freed from suffering
This was, a thought out, measurement of life
A considered measurement, made together
Because always their minds remained creative

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BBB Poem 33

I bring my own sounds
To counteract the hammer, to overwhelm
The nails, the hedge trimmer, the rolling along
Of the waste collection bins

I bring Bubbling Spring
To enhance the jazz
Of suburban urban living
I ask focussed noise, to disperse random noise

And now the industrial scale
Garden vacuum machine is set to work
Picking up, or blowing away
All of the fallen foliage of the summer

Would that I could build
A super-strength sound insular summer house
Or an equally peaceful meditation chapel
O would that I could do so many things

For a moment there the breeze took hold
Ruffled the hair over my forehead
Cleared away a cloud; the light came through
Gave me my very own patch of peace

My daughter messaged; could she stay over
Bring my two grandchildren for the weekend
Before the bank holiday; if the weather is
Promising, maybe we could go to Cleethorpes!

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BBB Poem 32

The love was too strong
It hid all the sufferances
The love went on too long
It followed the circumferences

Why would I write that
Why would I construct
Or record these utterances

Why would I want you to know
The chances that I'd taken
The hopes and the undulations

The love was too tough
It bid all the challenges
The love became too rough
It wallowed in the imbalances

Why would I write to you
Why would I deduct
Or inform the dalliances

Why would I share this
The images that were torn
As I stripped back the valances

The love was real
It undid all the differences
The love was to feel
To re-open the sufferances

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BBB Poem 31

I go out into the garden
In the fresh morning air
But where has my zafu gone
I must have misplaced it

I feel the cooler breeze
Over my skin, under my linen shirt
I listen to the album Atomos
By Winged victory for the sullen

Are you searching for something
Which I do not give to you
Are you quietly saying to me
That we each have our own past lives

Are you leaning, as the plum tree leans
Towards the light, towards the sun
Towards the source of growth
Is it more growth which you crave

The concert hall in Los Angeles
Is not lost to me, although
The music that evening was not special
But I do have a CD to remind me

Of the visitation of angels, which was
A place, at that particular moment in time
Where I often lost myself, or where
I allowed my mind to wander in joy

My past is almost unapproachable now
I guess that is why I am still writing
That is why I sit out in the garden
To gather the splinters from a past life

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BBB Poem 30

It is a tunnel
A telescope
A path across a vista

A route map for correspondence
And communication
Between lovers, and lovers of life

It is a train
An aeroplane
A ways, and a means

Of moving, from here, to there
And back again
For lovers, for lovers of life

It is a stream
A river
A never ending flow of cool water

From the source, to the sea
All around the cycle
As with lovers, as with lovers of life

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BBB Poem 29

The marching band is present
So are the mowers of lawns
I could be in Mornington Crescent
Or where one sees the salmon spawns

Yet, from this quiet corner
I see the pile of garden waste
I am, as if the wayward mourner
Who left his past in clouds of haste

But I have the towering willow
And apple trees bearing fruit
My lovers head is on her pillow
And much the same I will follow suit

Not denying part, or all, of my creation
Not looking for ways in, nor ways out
It is my time alone, this nation
Where I ease away the seeds of doubt

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