Overnight
At Gloucester Docks
After afternoon in the sun
At SWFC
Now
In the four-poster room
Looking out
To sheep on the hillside
Outside, below the tall windows
The noise of conversation
Silence begins
At nine pm
Then
To wake to the sound
Of the ringing bell
Before Qigong on the lawn
A pair of blow torches
Signed by Veritas
Well worn chair cushions
Bearing the name Pro Bono
A glass of hand pulled beer
Black Sheep back by customer’s request
Time ticks, and takes away the minutes
Before the ringing of the bell
Red Star of Belgrade
Sporting Lisbon
River Plate
Partisan Belgrade
Ageless wisdom timeless love
Metro lands, metropolis
Let me take your ticket
Let me take your bag
Empty stadiums
Changed civilisations
Breathe on my lips
Be my first kiss
Red Star or Partisan
Once for innocent youth
Now adrift of the beautiful game
Now adrift of the wonderful life
I write of you
I think of me
I see you
I see another side of me
I talk of the reflection in your eyes
What is it there that I see
I talk of your words whispered to me
What is it there that I hear
In the distance of my imagination
What there am I to imagine
In the first instance of my fascination
Why then am I so facile
In the beauty of you beside me
I gather a smile
I think of you
I write of me
Over a bridge
Of still tumbling water
Over the sea
Of tipsy topsy tranquillity
Clouds on horizons
Of beautiful visions
Shrouds in the sky
Try their best to fly
On the edge of everyday beauty
Seen through the tree at the end of its leaf
See your smile, an endless beauty
On your face; here for all of time in sans serif
Blues and greys and golden silvers
A backcloth to the silhouettes of youth
Back again in bud by springtime
The bloom of you in boundless truth
Still the skies on Monday mornings
Factories have died to far off plans
Arise my man in deep mid winter
Think again of summer’s strands
See your smile, still in wonder
Games to play with strings and band
Lover's talk of love at midnight
A far off hope of golden sand
Hand in hand in love at midnight
The golden talk of soft blown land
Stroke the neck nape in the moonlight
Walk on by the gold brass band
Soft skins touched by all by moonlight
Hand in hand on bandstand land
Lover's hope of snow capped mountains
Of plains and deserts themselves to stand
Hand in hand there by the fountain
With their dreams immense and grand
Stroke the clock
On past the midnight’s glow
In the silver moonlit mountains
Shadowlands so so seldom show
Confined to words on polished paper
Inclined the statement then to fake her
Any words, about any trees
Anything to think of me
A new rose in late December
The frost froze back a week or two
The parcel post and letters lent her
A short respite from nothing new
Fingers pick the stringed guitars
Fingers which don't reach to the stars
A new quiet then to fend her skin
From the embers of her tethered din
Inclined to find a hill top turning
Horizons prised from treeless leaves
Bird box in the tree
Bird box in the tree
Can you see
To the deep inside of me
Can you see
Here, deep inside of me
Gravel in the yard
Gravel in the yard
Stand up straight and true
So so hard
To stand up, stay straight and true
It is so so very hard
Time ticks on the clock
Time, don't you ever stop
Bird box in the tree
Gravel in the yard
Time ticks on the clock
It is so so very hard
Time ticks on the clock
Time, don't you ever stop
Bird box in the yard
I posted you letters
My words went astray
I opened your diary
The day laid out your way
My letters, your day
Our whispers we say
Your diary, today
So little we stray
I posted you letters
They kept you at bay
I opened your diary
I am now, on my way
My bay is your outpost
Unopened, not ever before today
