Not fooled by design

Clothed by Calvin Klein or Lacoste

Or Ralph Lauren or Henri Lloyd

You are out of place in this town where

To dress cheaply is itself part of the attraction

Where sharply to turn a hand too quickly

In a game of cards, is altogether unexpected

Available at Amazon

Your land is not my land, but welcome

We walk in familiar places

Our conversation races and chases

Then fades into our undiscovered dreams

My shoe laces, faced on the strike of the

Faraway clock are undone; the shine

Of flameless traces in the half light

Of midnight are over the cross unsung

We talk in particular cases of the real and

The imaginary, dazed by the liquor of love

My news of a Windrush calling, falling in line

The shadows steps, still and moving are abroad

In my country, here upon my Lincolnshire Wolds

The few truths that only they are able

To carry are held together; string on paper

Hope in the music of Liszt or Offenbach

We turn the last corner, under the

Soft sway of the evergreen willow

We walk along the unlit shingle path

Through the hinged wooden gate

And together we turn the cast metal

Key around, in our mortice security lock

Available at Amazon

All around the world

I'm told you've played at Glastonbury

Was that before the entanglement

Of your Dorset pale faced folk fiddler

And your sub-continent Bhangra baby

The newly beautiful, truly deep eyed singer

The geography teacher

She tells me that she is tone deaf

And all night I see her fingers dance

On the curved back of her estranged lover

Available at Amazon

Counterweight

The poet who seeks his own fame

Who seeks to be

Outside of the establishment

But nevertheless

He wants to be thanked by them

For his dutiful service

The poet

Here in place of everyone

Who feels at odds with the world

Even at odds

Within their own world

Or looking at their own world

The poet

Then as the socialist worker

A justified struggle

By the poor

And the under-privileged

Yet what is the result

The unencumbered

Alternative

To be even more disenfranchised

Or instead to carry the load

With dignity

To become a pillar of society

Or to become

Entirely disillusioned

Or euphoric in joy

Is there here

Half a story

Or even any story at all

In any case

Would we, or could we

Understand how to reveal it

Available at Amazon

Coventry City 3 Sheffield Wednesday 1

It's a funny old game, nine against eleven, and last year; two of our boys lost their lives on their journey home. So today, in their memory you play our signature song; Hi ho Sheffield Wednesday.

Your fifteen thousand three hundred and thirty five supporters and our four thousand one hundred and fifty four travelling fans; they raise together in a humane and emotional tribute.

No wonder then that the unshaved stubble stands (on end) to attention here again now, as I watch the raindrops fall on to my windscreen, with my eyes softly focussed, slowly and thoughtlessly towards the endless oncoming traffic.

Later. I ponder about the American guy, sat across from me in the coffee shop; he is here tonight to talk to our cohort; about all things literary and publishing; I wonder; will he mention this commentary on our beautiful game.

Available at Amazon

Autumn artefacts, oh my Hillman almanac

Did we ever have so much sunlight

I don't expect the inanimate objects

Can give me the answer, nevertheless

I feel you would be warmed

By the reflection in the blue glazed vase

Even now, as it is, empty of flowers

Or the clay formed hedgehog

With it's turned up nose cocking a snoot

At the Ivy and the swaying willow

And the Clarence cliff tea pot

Empty of function, it sits still

Lets the sun fall on its contemporary spout

The young girl, with a blue headscarf

She watches me, but as yet I have not started

To wonder what it is that she is thinking

In her plain gold frame

With a wide white cardboard border

Sunlight, sat here, yet going nowhere

Available at Amazon

Words whispered on the breeze

The Wolds, up over the folded jackets

Of violins and strings galore

There through the flickered leaf

The video of the motor cycles roar

The stillness of the rolled up straw

Already giving birth to grass

If ever we should find silence

Would we could be so lucky to last

Up and down and pan

All around and all ways across the horizons

In the stillness of sleep

With a breeze from faraway offshore islands

You quietly began to talk

Of last nights film; about sliding off

From the edge of the world

About the contrasts

Between here and Kings Cross station

I listened with great intensity

To the comfort of your voice

I wanted you to talk forever

Available at Amazon

Before and after the movies

You laugh at my eagerness

And completeness

My desire to reach dessert

You smile at my certainty

And surety, of the goodness

in Liquorice Allsorts

You fumble at my love

There open and tender

Touch me why don’t you

We walk in the night

You hold my hand under the stars

With a clear dark-sky wish

Available at Amazon

Movement in another time

Dance; I can sweat, stutter about the dance floor

In a trance of confusion and a metaphor of clay

The bass player, with his sway, his self detached

Insignificance; dance for him is just another day

The lead guitar picks, as easily as his fingers wrap

The frets; no worry, steady; dance is the easy way

Jimba-jimba… a host of words from a far further

Fascination; with generosity dance is here to stay

Dance; I forget myself, lay lady lay

Oh let me move my body

More ever than I might my mind

To dance with my love I pray

Available at Amazon