IKEA or Habitat

He acts daft

She calls him the fool

His roundedness confounds

What on earth is she to do

Yet; or so it appears to me

They are a close together two

There though

Listen to the bitterness

The taste

Of apricot and grapefruit

The unbridled sourness, astounded

By her voice

Spitting tacks

Littered

With such observations

Do they ever have a choice

The wickedness

Piled on

So many years of wanting and waiting

Sticks and stones

And who knows

Even maybe broken bones

Piled on

So many years of waiting and wanting

This is Monday, in the morning

They, they are one of the first customers

At this store to make your house a home

I am here, alone, although not lonely

But still I wonder

What makes for a wonderful life

What is it that makes for such a wonderful life

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Nostalgia no more to need

Now and in my time I see

The shadows ever stronger

In the sunlight the darkness strays longer

Towards the far away night

Sat, at this four legged table

On a four legged, wooden chair

By the window with daylight beaming

Why not write of that I dare to care

Mickie Most and Mighty Marvel

The Hotspur; for the true blue, soccer dude

Cavalcades then move off to the carnival

To find the stuff which would turn my mood

It seems that dragons they do have dungeons

As also kestrels hover when in flight

And the dolphin by the bays edge

In the early evening, their sight holds me tight

Now and in the time when I am me

The shadow burns my fear of deceit

I am stronger in the sunlight

In the time, that, I am meant to be

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Where do you go to my doubting

Feel the tension flee

The cool sensation of being you

Now and in the times to see

The poet is to step on through

Wander in meadows, sit fast at kitchen tables, time passed

In faint but fair sunlight the dew is on the grass

And the misfit

He hits out for home at last

From the past into the present

Scent of mulberry and blue

On the plains and corn exchange crescents

The bookshops bring their pleasure do

With reflection of the morning

Past the dark time in to night

For the sleep and the dreams there dawning

Once again to lean beyond our own we might

Say then our prayers from the Hopkins bible

See again The Windhover in flight

Clasp our dreams with the now of Zen insight

Here the words:

Stumbles of sounds be gentle

Let us go there in deep delight

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Travels with truth

From darkness into light, enter morning after night

Sunshine in September before the autumn rains

Dark times may develop through the daytime

Without good posture, their goes the cloak of pain

In the forest of the mighty oak we care

Beware those heavy raindrops

The loafer or the lugubrious

He lies there in his lair

Think back on the pagan years

To the minstrels and the roustabouts

To the dark days of late summer

Before the winter fights we fear

From light into darkness enters evening after noon

Dark time back in grey September

When, just as before my silver moon

Now in gloom she entered my sitting room

Dark time, not now though for to remember

Always and forever to lend her

That the light shall rise again from the embers

Of that long and cold December

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Only for your own eyes

Close your eyes

Clothe them

In September’s sun

In flower power

Paisley patterns

Let your mind wander and run

Doze there in daydreams

Arose to touch the precipice

And walk along the paths of joy

Close your eyes

Who knows what thoughts

Therein have been strung

Instead we rest

In now it is the how we vest

Of times so far unsung

Chosen there in maybe’s

Or exposed

To a different drum

Who glows; oh now so

That we may mean

The setting of the simpler sun

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Ingratiate

I cannot wait to begin

I began again

Once or twice before

The sin of just another moment

Before the sunrise

Rose again

Estates and tree lined driveways

Byways

And country lanes

The din of just another moment

Before the crossing gate

Rose again

I hesitate after I begin

Again I began

I do it more and more

Tin cans in farm land county

Before the young folks

Rose again

I am late, it is within

We cannot wait

You know the score

We must begin

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Now and here

It is a while since I sat out in the garden

Even longer, since I saw the Cornish coastline

And never yet have I walked, or talked on Suffolk sands

How could I forget this place; only a few yards from our door

Here under the completely clear blue skies, for today again

I am a long way from an uncertain keyboard or computer screen

The last time, I remember, I was looking for the peach tree

In the dark wet nights of early August, when instead

Of this excitable place, we watched TV, with our dinner on our knees

See how easy to become disconnected, to miss out on or to forget

The wonder of the out of doors, yet still today I cannot be still

I am not yet in comfort, but sat anxiously stiff in the September sun

The trampoline beckons; I reckon that these few extra ounces

Will steady the bounce as my now longer locks flounce

In the summer sunlight; uncombed, unkempt, untroubled

The last few apples, which the early autumn winds cannot dislodge

They take in the last tastes of the summer

Their deep red satisfies the eye, that I do not deny

The curved and twisted boughs and branches and leaves

Which are golden and virgin will soon turn through youth to brown

Up and down the country, yes, this has been quite a summer

I dare say I’ve never been so happy, with time and place

To share and care and to be cared for, there is little desire today

To do much more than be ever thankful

To be here in the moment; and to know where it is that I am

And to know that you will join me, as we walk and talk

On the Norfolk and Suffolk beaches

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