It's raining in South Brent
It's raining in South Brent
I wonder if you meant
This line so heaven sent
It's raining in South Brent
It's raining on the moor
The days are damp and dour
Life's landlocked for the poor
It's raining on the moor
It's sunny in the bay
A funny kind of day
We sail the first of May
Bad boys are out to play
It's sunny in the bay
Go back
Unfold the darkness
Open the sunlight
On the Saturday morning bookstore
The sack is emptied of its juices
The rise and fall of troy is left undone
Nuisance sits nearby to nuance
Memory resides alongside mnemonic
Peak experiences sleep
Along the uneven horizons
They rise deep, to peep
At the sorrowful stars
Still somewhat behind you
Here to take a short vacation
With my book: The poetics of space
The helicopter flies low overhead
The camouflaged sound of the Royal Marines
A picture; a print, in the style of Monet,
But pink, is reflected in the window
And in the mirror, and in the screen
Of the ubiquitous institutional television
Later I will arrive where two rivers meet
Where the moorlands waters plunge
Into the fast flowing ravines
Then onwards to the beach, to collect
A few pebbles, a photograph, a memento
Feet tingle, most every other day
Warm in winter, burning up from the inside
Personal global warming, in or out of season
Long term, short term plans cast aside
Treading on streets and pathways
Moorlands, meadows, and motorways
Huddling, against the wind and rain
Shoulders turned down for the first time
Certain of supposition
Neglect of evidence
Unshaken, until the breeze
Lifted the skirts
Of the west wind’s mind
Reed flesh, heed mesh
Hands, bland, seen lingering
Green sting, cruel fool
Rain pursues flues and panes
Brain moves loves again
Day returns, burns grey
Rotting ferns die away
Tent breeze, relent, at ease
Bound thought, round taut
Air aware, fled to dread
Server-lad not so sad
Kissed; half prejudiced
Creed indeed, hand glad
Half empty motorways
Cargoes half way to ports
All night the quiet roar
Echoes the monotonous drawl
Lodges with wallpaper
With TV's and electric heaters
All night the daylight beckons
Side by side with the sodium
Ships square on with containers
Stevedores pointing the forks
All night the warehouse stores
Post codes flicker as though lost
They travel across the silver screen
Step up to a higher bar
Praise no longer sufficient
Delay; but aim to be concise
Time taken to work it out
Work-out, works out
To step to a higher plane
With longer wider horizons
To see more than shadows
An archipelago or beach head
Of seals or penguins, only the good
Or the bad or the well placed survive
No place here for peering blindfold
Into the oncoming headlights
Arms folded, shoulders hunched
You unfasten the clasp on your bag
Didn't you have time to fix your hair
Though I must say that it goes rather well
With the early morning cappuccino
Drip drop, steam froth, a shake
Of chocolate topping, and a blueberry
Bilberry muffin; oh no you've asked
For the takeaway, two to go
Your friend, similarly arranged hair
She could be your daughter, except
I guess you are both about the same age,
Way less old than the guy with the full English
If I smoked a cigarette
I'd take a pack of twenty
If I drank just to forget
I'd make sure I got my plenty
If I chew a liquorice sweet
I'd consume the whole damned packet
If I buy a suit so neat
I'd say, go on; wrap a second jacket
If I washed a sock or two
I'd make oddness from a pair
If I lived like some folk do
I'd stumble to find one so rare
If I loved a love so true
Only then my love would I dare
On the cusp of sleep
There lives the single word
Or the phrases of monogamy
On the upheld unknown journey
Accompaniment is wayward
Yet welcome, bringing to life
Though not to be spoken
It is wielded by the unforgiving saint
On the break of day a pencil
Is gripped before a wipe of the eye
The ringing is all
Inside of the ears, the endless
Tingle of the damned infernal
From one big open space
To another
Down one long road
Without cloud to smother
Headlights, tail lights
Caffeine to recover
The radio plays
He ain’t heavy he's my brother
Into one small room
From another
It'll be breakfast soon
Without your lover
Nor neither his pink Cadillac
