I came to you

I came to you

With no promise

Of making good

Though I do seek

A kindness

A calm of mind

Also that I might

Help myself

To a kinder body

Perhaps by eating less

Perhaps by walking more

Perhaps by dipping

In and out of poetic prayer

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no place to turn

no place to turn

where silence

might be found

no light to burn

where ashes

might be ground

into the embers

of the bonfires

of the insanities

no place to scorn

where rowdiness

abounds

no sire so forlorn

where the doubt

so so stiffly surrounds us

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all that talk

all that talk

of where i failed

and still fail

all that smoke

and mirrors

to contradict the truth

pointing

in at least two directions

to deflect

so anointing

the one who was

appointed

with light

and ludicrous

paranoia

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in st just

in st just

lost

looking for

the artist’s gallery

sat outside

the kings arms

with an old man

who made a living

with his art

sufficient

for food

on the table

and a roof

over their heads

thrown out

of his home

by his father

mother passing

his clothes out of the window

a traveller

throughout  the kingdoms

he was a painter

in the realist

and impressionist styles

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am i losing you

am i losing you

are we losing each other

is the distance between us

too far to bridge

i am fearful

of such a discovery

as I wander in the damp mist

of a Japanese garden

might you have forgotten

how much i need you

how uselessly alone

i will be on my own

it is true even if i say so

that i don’t deserve you

and that you may be happier

if you were without me

then i remember

the good times that we have

how on so so many occasions

we have helped each other smile

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in search of silence

in search of silence

that is in departure

from society

where ones own self is the place

of curious calm

and wild wilful imagination

letting the past be the past

in glorious

flying fast formation

in search of love

that is the engagement

of the other

where both are at the grace

of togetherness

optimistic of advances

let the future be the future

in the beautiful

hands-held hesitations

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i can’t say the words

i can’t say the words

tongue-tied by anxiety

what if the end is in sight

a new direction on the horizon

how to let oneself down

once again

how to think of starting over

and leaving the past behind

there does have to be a purpose

does there really

beyond being comfortable

and at peace

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these are the quiet words

these are the quiet words

of a soul lost within itself

or a soul lost within another soul

and at that very moment

one blackbird stops splashing

and two blackbirds depart

a gentle breeze stills the leaves

motor cars noise slowly flattens

the bay bush sits still and calm

i am startled by the fall of water

overnight rain in the canopy

shocked I listen for a church bell

calling the worshipers to worship

or is it the sinners to sin

disenfranchised to disenfranchise

i am not for letting go, rather

i dwell with the soul lost

looking out on the natural world

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it is time for a long poem

it is time for a long poem

as the girl at the waters edge

dries her cotton frock

in the breeze

she walks with her friend

quite a hulk of a man

more so when he turns to jog

a fly settles on the inside

of my unnecessary sunglasses

as the boys return from surfing

next stop is the queue

for coffee and muffins

also to watch the small bird

picking up the crumbs

which is what we all do

day by day by day

this is the thoroughfare

for the fashion statement

also the sugar rush for the kids

to be nonchalant seems to be

the look of the moment

should I practice disinterest

no surely not not as the blue sky

appears on the horizon

and also inland

older son is on a prolonged break

to take in coffee and a cigarette

i have a white chocolate lemon muffin

which after all is how sugar coated

lives ought to be lived is it not

when there is a sharp line of horizon

the tide is going out

high tide being at nine am

this maybe accounts for the breeze

i have to move from the chair

onto the rocks as oldest son

needs to get out of his wetsuit

at that very moment

sunlight bursts through to cast a glow

onto family life same as it ever was

picture taking time

oneself, with surfboard

on his knees as he is writes

a replica

of the two-thousand and four version

with surf board and mars bar

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