Who to dare you

You

You, who are at this moment reading

You, my lover, my friend

My follower leading

You

In your meditation garden

Or quietly beside

Your forty winks

Who else can you turn to

To whisper in your ear

Who that learns, then goes

Then with stillness appears to re-appear

You

In your sunbathed shelter

Or inside

Your hyacinth haven

You

Who are this moment thinking

You, my mother, my brother

My lifetime’s scent

Who else can you turn to

For always

And forever

Who to dare you to move on

Fold the page

Close the book

Walk into your garden

In reality or imagination

Dare to turn to you

To move you on

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Fairground riches

Picture postcards

Messages from well wishers

Givers of thanks

From thanks givers

Care earned

And banked

A clock

That these past few months

Has moved on so so little

Fingers are still, time is still

Spring into summer

Pictures are framed

Words in aspect south facing

Love unchained is a melody

Hold hands, stroke shoulders

Kisses on lips

Smiles and whispers

At nightfall and morning

Read and write

Draw together new pastures

Combing the wilderness

Of those unknowing

Chance to light

On summers and autumns

And winters

Of winds so so softly blowing

Pictures and postcards

And fairground riches

Care earned

And banked with thanks

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Social Gatherings

You trimmed the roses

I cut the grass

You smiled demurely

I coarsely laughed

Under my trousers

I was underwear free

You smiled profusely

Sat on my knee

You strimmed unbroken

Around the trees

Your garden our token

Of glow and breeze

Your petticoat

Is discarded, at rest

I smile into your hand

My cards played at your bequest

Under Milkwood

And countless other

Social gatherings

Pleasure is understood

Weather changes

Passions blow high and low

You cut the crap

I say hello

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Cool morning

The breeze blows a little cooler today

The weather programme talked of thunder

Yet the evening primrose opened her petals

Insects move workmanlike about the concrete flags

I forget that I am on holiday

That for today these words are not my work

That the birdsong

Is the echoed cry of a freedom already found

What is to become, who can say

Of my poetry, who would see, why he or she

Would dwell awhile, beside the Pampas Grass

And think of the Riviera, at home or abroad

To think of strolls along promenades

Or visits to the winter gardens

Or afternoons at the air shows

Balloons with passengers, and pink champagne

The hedgehog is back into hiding

It has had its three minutes of fame

Now time for the white crested blackbird

And another flower, also that I am unable to name

Only that is green and yellow and white

Impregnated garlands of crimson hanging claret

Such an endorsement of plumage

Which would look well on the dance-floor

I am reminded of Saturday nights

Of mohair suits and chisel toe shoes

Of warm night’s soft conversation before a pause

Before the applause of the cool morning breeze

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No wonder why

Yesterday we worked in the garden

Until late on in the day

Mowing grass, pulling weeds

At a distance, yet together

Midway we paused for a salad

A quiche, a cup of tea

Glasses of chilled white wine

With sparkling iced water

Later, after or just on darkness

Before the faded light

After a rest, after a shower we loved together

In our own fresh made bed, like lovers do

We did not go to church yesterday

Although the day before

There had been I must say

Another kind of wedding

Saying kind words, encouraging laughter

Placing confetti around the cake

Naming two children; giving a name

A bond for their lifetime's yet to be made

Yesterday we sat in the garden

Under the mid-evening sky

No more to wonder why

Why we, and they, are so so lovingly in love

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In a fighting practice

I have moved into the shade

Although the paper

Is still in dappled sunlight

And the shadow of thumb and pencil

Move across the page

The apple tree spreads across more

Than half the garden

On the day before the 4th of July

The tree is so so very heavily ladened

With the fruit though still yet to ripen

The fruits will fall

Some already have

And in the trees of many years

Or even more years

Many more fruits have fallen

Yet each summer

And this one in particular

Life returns in abundance

Once again growth springs into beings

Love is here and love is all around us

Overhead the dull groan of an aeroplane

Memories; two days ago on the Lincolnshire Wolds

A most peaceful place on earth

Two jet fighters in a fighting practice

Two pilots fly at many hundreds of miles an hour

Where were they going, what were they knowing

Showing off their skills way above the farmer

With his plough, with his rake, with his seed

He moves so so slowly, studiously he takes his time

He waits for the season, his reasons are clear

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