Fifty One

I arrived early
Time to sit
Time to write
Time to wait
For the doctor’s telephone call

I have taken a photograph
Of the pond
With Lotus leaf

I have made a video
Of the waterfall splashing

There is another notebook
I bought it in Royal Tunbridge Wells
It is a smaller affair
Which encourages me
To write shorter poems

Yet this book carries with it
An authenticity
For with this book there was planning
Now there will be execution

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Fifty

Cloud of blue
Cloud of grey
Watching the bus passengers
Go on their way

Cases of brown
Cases of black
Watching the luggage
Beginning to stack

Eyes of azure
Eyes of magenta
Watching the students
Follow their mentor

Bench of wood
Bench of stone
Watching the raindrops
Casually turn to storm

Roof of tile
Roof of slate
Watching serfdom
Become with estate

Field of brown
Field of green
Watching the ploughman
Go where he’s never been

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Forty Nine

There is dark
There is light
The custodian’s arse
Is rather tight

It is stark
It is might
The earl so sparse
He lacked insight

The morning lark
Was in plain sight
Oystercatchers depart
With little flight

From Orkney to Sark
With emotional fright
The mind’s eye starts
With unusual plight

That day in the park
Riding the village bike
Following those carts
Flying your new-found kite

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Forty Eight

Eternal love
Will I not be unseated
Unfaithful love
May I not be defeated

Eternal love
I will not be deceitful
Unrequited love
May I not be in receipt

Eternal love
Will I ever be completed
Unborn love
May I not repeat

Eternal love
I will be eventful
Unbending love
May I be plentiful

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Forty Seven

I hear one crow
One crow, then one other
Soon a cacophony
One crow, with many others

I hear one rook
One rook, then one other
Soon I see a host of nests
For one rook, with many others

Crow or rook
Rook or crow
All alone
Or one with many others

Two pigeons on one branch
One love, of one other
One pigeon, one branch
One love lost, of many others

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Forty Six

Reinforcement, of soul
Of spirit, of breath, of voice
Sigh of great expectation
Sigh of intense stillness

Hear the crows squawk
Hear the pigeons coo
As in the old times
On modern chimney pots

Not so far from executions
Or more so, from persecutions
Not so far from dereliction
Of duties, of buildings

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Forty Five

Close in on me
Stumpy stone pillars
Withered away arches

Weight your song onto me
Stained glass window
Soprano led choir

Depart from me
Onwards to Berlin
To your own family

Be as you would for me
Lightness, movement
Quietly with voice

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Forty Four

Take the birdsong
To the dusk
Let the warbler
Play his tune for me

Take the hillside
To the shepherd
Let the sheep
Play their song for me

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Forty Three

On the last night
In the late light
The singers sing
Of Mack the Knife

In the late life
Of the last sight
The chorus rings
Of Mack the Knife

By the new pond
Is the old bond
The poet writes
Of clouds so high

On the old stone
As Orcadians roam
Their voices sound
Of sheep, of birds in flight

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Forty Two

One more stone on water
One more leaf down the rill
Slow passage as you fought her
Floss, off the scent on the windowsill

One flat film of still cold water
One lazy cloud in the sky
A singular path as you caught her
Gossamer flight into rye

One barbed wire, then one other
Another field beyond the field
One long journey as you brought her
The dragonfly who you thought would yield

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Forty One

Breathe in
Feel the cool air
Sit
Feel the warm air
Breathe in, sit
Feel the cool air, feel the warm air

Breathe out
Feel the warm air
Sit
Feel the cool air
Breathe out, sit
Feel the warm air, feel the cool air

Breathe in
Feel the cool air
Sit
Feel the warm air

Breathe out
Feel the warm air
Sit
Feel the cool air

Breathe in, sit
Feel the cool air, feel the warm air
Breathe out, sit
Feel the warm air, feel the cool air

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Forty

Because we can shape the land
We do shape the land
Because we can hear the helicopter
We do hear the helicopter
Because we can lose the top off of the pencil
We do lose the top off of the pencil

Because we can we do
Because I can I do
Because, can, do

Because I see the shimmer on the sea
I smile, I look again, I look again
Because I see the haze on the distant hill
I smile, I look again, I look again
Because I see the birds as they warble
I smile, I look again, I look again

Actually now I listen
I listen, I hear the birds
I listen, I hear the tractor
I listen, I hear the breeze
I listen, I hear the pencil on the paper

Actually now I write
I write, I watch the shadow
I write, I find a rhythm
I write, for no one in particular
I write, to say, that I too am not discarded

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Thirty Nine

Across Stromness harbour
Reading the Month of May
From George Mackay Brown’s
Calendar of Love

Watching the collection of seabirds
Move hither and thither
Splash, paddle - back and forth
Wash, preen - all around

At one with the seagulls
At one with the squawking
Most of all, best of all
At one with the sunshine, with the settled sea

Listen, listen closely
Listen to the voice
Reciting a poem to the ocean
Practiced, to quell the impending storm

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Thirty Eight

Out in the sun
Out in the post-modern midday air
Watch the coaches arrive
Watch the coaches depart

The parcel delivery man
Delivers the parcel
In the very same way
That all delivery men do

Yet, perhaps not in quite such a hurry
No, not wearing such a grimace
Nor demonstrating time’s pressure
In quite exactly the same way

Out in the sun
Out in the post-modern midday air
Watch the world pass by
Watch the time take time a little longer

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Thirty Seven

In the pilot’s house
At the pilot’s window
Clear waters
Long stretches of sea

Dust on the windowsills
Stuffed birds
Small tall ships
In antique glass cases

Ripples on the surface
Bask in the sunlight
A calmness today
Also on another day

Yet only two nights ago
A raging sea
A violent sea
Yet still nowhere near

The sea which topped the cliffs
The sea which bared the ground
The sea which rediscovered
A life which had been passed over

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Thirty Six

The sea devours four houses*

A cliff-top gale to you and me
A wee-breeze for the locals
A somewhat sideways view
Along the coastline to Hoy

Fearful for oneself
Fearful also for others
For the sea devours those with troubles
The cliffs provide launching pads for escape

Defeat in that suicidal moment
Unable to change ones mind
No longer to hear the songs of angels
No longer to cast eyes on universes beauty

Fearful, of what thoughts the rose might raise
Fearful, of pasts once thought well buried
For the mind devours those with troubles
The soul provides launching pads for escape


* George Mackay Brown - Scara Brae

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Thirty Five

Ask the old one to make a clay lamp*

Hard clay; crushed, milled to dust
Calcified, into even finer dust
Conveyed, or blown on its way
Mixed, mixed with water
Extruded, over a dye
Sliced, sliced into pipes
Each one a man's height in length
Rolled continuously as they dried
Stood tall, kiln fired
Unloaded by man
Tarred and sleeved by man
Stacked on pallets by man
Lifted by fork-lift truck
Transported by articulated lorry
Unloaded once more by men
Laid into trenches by men
Clay for a future generation
Clay for internet communication cables


* George Mackay Brown - Skara Brae

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Thirty Four

Three posts
For the washing lines
Three posts, three washing lines
Three directions
For the washing to blow
Three orientations
For the sun to shine

Four pivots
For the feet to stand on
Four points, four connections to the ground
For certainty to be established
For feet and body to be supported
Four combinations
For the balance to be confirmed

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Thirty Three

I want to talk about spines
and vertebrae
Because I am learning about
spines and vertebrae

I want to talk about clouds
and skies, and hills
Because I am looking at
clouds, and skies, and hills

I want to arch round
to the spine
Because I am learning how to
arch round to the spine

I want to drift, as clouds drift
over hills, across skies
Because, as I drift, the clouds and skies
drift with me, drift for me

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Thirty Two

I must remember that horizon
I ought to turn my head
The full one-hundred-and-eighty degrees

We walk around the pond
We sit on the bench to talk
I return to my room, to proofread

The horizon, from this new viewpoint
Is not so strong, a darker sea
Muffles the colours concentrations

A fainter line; a cloud line
With that uncertainty of purpose
Certainly not the edge of the world

I must remember this line of hills
Where the land and skyline turn
As the water of life flows from loch to sea

We walked along minor roads
Then ventured out onto cart tracks
Drawn by the pull of the shoreline

Our house was on the hill
Though which house, on which hill
Would we ever wish to return to

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Thirty One

Yesterday was rain
Rain from who knows where
For the day before was beautiful
This day too it is beautiful also

I have a desire to learn
Who knows who gave me such a gift
I have no choice but to listen
No way but to try to understand

Always then the sun does it for me
Helps me to feel good
Helps me to feel warm
Helps me to halfway remember

That time suspended on the ocean
Those weightless moments, minutes
Those naked mornings, salt on skin
Skin thinking relentlessly of skin

That time, when one footprint was
Followed by one more footprint
Pressed, pressed with some certainty
Into the soft submissive sands

That time, after the loss
When, fully clothed you dived
You dived into the clear blue sea
Then emerged; with a wide, wide smile

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Thirty

Share with all nations
How good could it be to be
Declare; yes you do have patience
How else could you see to see

Silhouettes on the skyline
Church bathed in a sea-fret mists
Sunsets acting as a lifeline
Schedules about to turn into lists

One stone cuts into another
One wall welcoming the next
One who roamed with a brother
Barbed wire lies (twisted) straight ahead

One arch on the cliff line
One bird in the sky
One field at dandelion time
Telegraph poles (upright) straight ahead

The painting is of a kettle in Russia
A view through an open window
A capture of the blue of Prussia
With the canal (or street) straight ahead

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Twenty Nine

Listen to the falling rain
Look across the fields
To the loch
Feel the weight of the mist
Know the world is good

See the blackbird with the worm
Smell the food being prepared
Hear the one more thought still asking
Speak to no one but the self
Know the time is good

Solid dwellings, with a vision
A centre for the voice
A place for voices to practice
A firm self, a confident self
Know the self to be good

All the world is a world away
All this rain is only rain
Yesterday such blue, blue skies
Tomorrow; either way, tomorrow
The weather will also be good

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Twenty Eight

On the Royal Yacht Britannia
Champagne, tea, with milk-shake
In a vintage bottle

Every day is somebody’s birthday
However long you choose to wait
However soon you say congratulations

Strolling deck to deck
Looking in on a life, lived
So so very differently

Last used for a pre-wedding
Reception, last registered
In the Cayman Islands

A youth chews gum
Listening to the audio instructions
As the last of the tour disembarks

Once more on terra-firma
Once more on dry land
On our way to the gift shop

A bus to Princes Street
A short stroll to All-Bar-One
For our reunion with such a fine place

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Twenty Seven

So much of a Friday morning
So much of a mango ice drink
Yes, this is so so much of a sense of life
A time to do no more than watch
How easily one foot
Steps in front of the other
How easily one word fell
Before the very next one
Thoughts of light aeroplanes
Blue skies, calm seas, wild oceans
Thoughts of love on love
Of peace laid on calm
No longer troubled
By the River Ouse
Or its tributaries
No longer the man of doubt
Sat here, with the certainty
That today it is Friday
A day that will only get better
Yes, better; then way better still

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Twenty Six

Might I write of you
As I write
Of spring entering summer

Might I write of you
As I observe
The words of Pablo Neruda

Might I think of that place
Beside the apple blossom
Where we might lay together

Might I think of that hut
Which, with a lover’s touch
Could easily be constructed

For no practical reason
But to sit in, to write in
To make love daily

Might the timbers
Give us their sap
Might we thus grow

For no other reason
Than to be nearer to each other
Nearer to love

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Twenty Five

Outside
Sunlight, slight breeze
Green leaves
Evergreen green leaves

Inside
A carpet to lay on
A wall, a door, a window
A book of silence

In transit
My body mass index
My reflexologist massaged feet
My, still-aching, frozen shoulder

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Twenty Four

The blandness
Of the strawberries, of the blueberries
Of the Icelandic style yoghurt
Only the toothache
Brought about any excitement

Yet before this
Fifteen minutes in the hot tub
Then to perspire profusely
Having been taken
Into a warm place

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Twenty Three

Day 1
The first fish of the day
On the line
In the net
Hook carefully removed
Photograph taken
(Of fish held by eldest son)
Fish returned to the water
Ripples on the lake

Day 2
The first fish of the day
On the line
In the net
Hook carefully removed
Photograph taken
(Of fish held by eldest son)
Fish returned to the water
Ripples on the lake

Available at Amazon