BBB Poem 81

In the hours
Before the morning light
With time alone
To fall and rise

With time alone
And darkness there
To settle back
Except for pain
Free to stare

Half awake now
With the tea
I share my thoughts
My hopes for me

The certainty
The sanctuary
The beauty
The love

I splashed in rivers
I walked in parks
I climbed mountains
I’m up for the larks

My mind does wander
That much is true
Nostalgia and reverie
To remember but the few

And the many
Who have joined this faith
Not always, or forever
Yet for the meanwhile
We carried the staff

Lived many ways
With tears and smiles
Before the day
And the hours of miles

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BBB Poem 80

Watch the leaves on the trees
What better to do
Watch grey skies increase
Away from the blue

Watch lover’s words permeate
What better to do
Watch hope slowly decrease
Away from the you

Watch the afternoon move on
What better to do
Watch war turn to peace
Away from the new

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BBB Poem 79

Autumn light
Emerging First And Last Of Love
From a mist covered pink-red sun

They said
This is how the world will end
With such violent winds, such visceral skies

And so you sit, sit and watch, sit
And listen to the whistle, sit
And listen, listen to the shaking timbers

And so I sit and write, I sit
And write some more, I sit
Until I hear someone knocking at the door

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BBB Poem 78

Autumn sun
Light which I don’t recall seeing before
Pink orange in the sky
Highlight light orange on the carpet

And in between
Those ninety-three million miles
How many faces to smile upon

Autumnal sky
As yesterday you caught me
Looking through the farmhouse window
For the moment of peak experience

And in between
Those hundred miles or so
From one county to another

Autumn night
A darkness which I am not used to
Flashlights and tall shadows
Adults as children at play

And in between
The public house and the private house
The joviality is continued

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BBB Poem 77

I don’t know this house at all
Other than I am told
It once was a store for calamine

I don’t know the colour on the wall
Other than it was sold
In the county’s interior decorator store

I listened in to last night’s conversation
If I may be so bold
I was only half-way to the Buddhist view

I heard arguments go to and fro
For and against; warm and cold
I was only half-way with the antagonist

I drink my tea, slow and sure
Looking out of the window
A clearer day; more light ahead

I drink my tea as I write these words
Thinking of walks on which to go
A calm for now, a future to second-guess

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BBB Poem 76

Step by step by step by step
I can hear the water now
Let the victories be on parade
I can see the rockfall now

Step by step by step by step
I can feel the glory now
Let the semaphores say the same
I can see the footfall now

Step by step by step by step
I can touch the morning now
Let the articulate show the way
I can see the snowfall now

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BBB Poem 75

Stream, river, pool, pond, puddle, lake, tarn
Water, water and rock, water, rock and culvert
And young men
Young men climbing freestyle
Through the rocky water
Meanwhile, in this huge, open-topped cavern
The mobile telephone
Allows the humanist celebrant
To take a booking
For a funeral
The week after next

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BBB Poem 74

Awake with the ache, the pure echo
Of the plain pain of torn fibre
Every night becomes the same
The joy of sleep is lost to the insane

Awake with Athens ache, the purest echo
Of yesterday’s walk deep among the tissue
As daylight entered, as dusk the same
The coy boys lover has given up the game

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BBB Poem 73

I have my own darkness
My dark soul of the night
I have my own pain
Physical, emotional

I follow the dawn light
Welcome my soul to the morning
I have my own particulars
In the present, from the past

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BBB Poem 72

Leaving, on a Sunday morning
Leaving on a jet plane
Receiving love, on a Sunday morning
Leaving is no way the same

Disbelief, good times come and go
Streams of vapour trails
Belief my love, good times come and go
Streams set out to different sails

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BBB Poem 71

We have all suffered, she said
I won’t do that I again, but I did
Of course I don’t imagine
That they would have

Is there a tipping point
The first anorak, or cagoule
The first Harris Tweed
The time to stop playing pool

As a one time mathematician
Could I draw a graph
Take out the photo album
To see when I no longer laugh

Yet this place is all about those
Little spots, of a polite sign
The mushroom soup is off, no bother
A small laugh, Broccoli and Stilton’s fine

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BBB Poem 70

Of course I like poetry
Don’t I subscribe to the societies
Quarterly magazine
Yes I know they are often left unopened
On the sideboard with the post

And don’t I every month
Buy a book of new poetry
Or a book of poetry new to me
But no I am sorry
I cannot tell you the name of the last one

Yes I do write other poet’s poems
Into my hard-backed notebook
I write in different coloured inks
I write them out for safe keeping
For closer reading
Though there haven’t been entries
Not for a while

I have run creative writing & poetry workshops
For over a decade now
Albeit they are for dwindling numbers
Having given up the vigour
Of the spoken word

I enjoy listening to poets on the radio
And watching poetry, in its many guises
On the television, but I wonder
Why is it always the same old faces
And just how old is John Cooper Clarke

Ten years ago, after completing my MA
I asked if I could do a PhD in video poetry
My tutor refused my request
He said it was not a serious subject
I hope he retired, yes, I hope that is the case

I have my own blog, hosted by Blogger
A new poem of mine is posted everyday
With no explanation or background
Yes I know there is a link to buy the pamphlet
But I’m not sure it works, for no one ever has

There is an interview
With me pontificating, questioned
By my partner Kate
Search coastmoor on YouTube
It’s getting on, but mostly I still feel the same

I never did care
For those intellectuals who deconstruct
And reconstruct at will, their will
Yes Ruth, I am talking about you

Why do I write this
And what is the use of poetry
Well
Today I will judge a poetry competition
So I thought you ought to have my credentials

My votes will be for feelings
Emotions
Inspirations
Creativity, and love: o yes, I must sense love

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BBB Poem 69

The walls are solid
The windows are deeply inset
I am up at four in the morning
Basking in the house apparatus light

Outside, the old stable walls
Are not so strong
And the Virginia Creeper
Why, as it must, it is creeping

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BBB Poem 68

So this is where we’re at
We’ve done the this and that
Meddled with the tit for tat
Behaved like the drowning rat

So this is how we are
We pushed ourselves too far
We stopped looking for the star
And drove West in the motor car

Would that October
Could be any other time
Would that to stay sober
Could twist me down the line

Would that February
Was also less weight
Would that to be merry
Could open the gate

But this is where we’re at
We missed out on getting back
Settled for defence, or attack
Behaviour of the downright prat

But this is how we are
We raised too high the bar
Stopped smelling molten tar
Drove East in the motor car

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