A passive desire
While I wait
For you to reappear
Not a cake to bake
Nor a cupboard to clean
Neither are needed this morning
To one side a dark blue sky
The kind which suggests thunder
To the other side, a silver light
Playful
Through the skeletal tree
(It is deep mid-winter)
Incense smoke
Flows down the fountain
Incense smoke
Rises to the ceiling
Up and down
Like the hole in the bucket collection
Of our hopes and emotions
And, as the smoke
Swiftly kisses, one wonders
What has happened
To the gravity of being
Do the words
Open up the reader
To gift a happy smile, or perhaps a solemn tear
The Lamy fountain pen
Found again
And re-loaded
With Berlin Blue ink
Blue being my colour
Of love
In all of its beautiful shades
Sky through turquoise
Navy onto royal
Teal to azure
Smoke rings
To oceans kisses
Sips of gin
To immerse all
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Ha ha
While looking
For something else
(Of which I already have a poem)
I found the first pen
With its transparent barrel
With such a surprise gift
I think back
To the highlights of 2023
One of which was the Barn Retreat
And so I booked again
But this time in the main house
On the Summer Creativity Retreat
C’est la vie
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I have more notebooks
Of a similar style
Presumably purchased
From the same vendor
I also have a memory
Of a clear, see-through Lamy pen
Bought for the first collection
I have quite a good number
Of pens and pencils
That is to say very many
Yet, yes always a yet
Yet I know not of where
That first pen resides
It is, so it seems, a mystery
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I have been reading
Love begins in winter
By Simon van Body
In the end notes
He tells how to find a story
In which he says
First you have to visit a new place
Stay in a new hotel
Discover your new surroundings
Meanwhile I listen
To Bill Nighy
Standing in for Iggy Pop
If you think this is
Indulgence might I add
That I had prawns and chocolate
Which did not
Set off
My glucose alarm
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I had a choice
I chose to change
We all have our own voice
We do not have to stay the same
And now perhaps
It’s time to rearrange again
To release the ties and straps
To wash away the imperfect stain
Although I know it’s also true
However I do remain the same
I carry my obsessions with the blue
I write the words to say your name
Wet mid-winter
Raindrops fall
From skies dull grey
Yet the sleep time
The dreams, rightly
Alive with energies
Now it’s coffee break
But not Americano
Instead instant with cream
Yet the though time
The contemplations
Inflective for love
Skeletal tree
Wavers in the breeze
Half-way in
Also very soon
Half-way out
Such freedom
Such joy
Such happiness
Gifts given
Gifts received
Gifts shared
Now the ironing
The cleaning
The cooking
Such pleasures
Such gratitudes
Such playful wanderings
Could you feel the pain
Could you feel the cold
Do you remember her claim
When she did become so bold
Did you see the rain’s play
Over fields glowing gold
Did she ask you then to stay
Until the barley it was rolled
Was there once a dream
To begin your life anew
Do you recall the way she leaned
With the lightness to undo
How did you respond to that view
Was it with joy and care and love
And how through time did she accrue
Was it outstanding, exceptional, so so way above