I talk to I, I talk to you
It is what we do, we do
First person, second or third
Flying as a bird
I sit with I, I sit with you
It’s simply what we choose to do
One person, or two, or three
As leaves on the purperley tree
Most days I would try to write a poem; it is a practice, as I suppose is meditation, or smiling, or watching the world go by
I talk to I, I talk to you
It is what we do, we do
First person, second or third
Flying as a bird
I sit with I, I sit with you
It’s simply what we choose to do
One person, or two, or three
As leaves on the purperley tree
I talk to the wind
The wind does not hear
The wind cannot hear
King Crimson I talk to the wind
Perhaps today we might share a conversation
As you warm me up
As you cool me down
As you sway the grasses
At my feet
To and fro, to and fro
What’s that you say
You have come a long way
And you have many miles still to go
Further than I might imagine you think
To places that I have not ever visited
And maybe not even dreamed of
I didn’t come here to talk with you
But that’s how it’s turned out
Have a nice day
The river, most probably
Came to the hillside
And thought it best to turn
The sheep have gone
During that one meditation
When we were told the rains are due
The tree on the horizon
With the silver skyline
Is gifted its own highlight
The sheep haven’t gone
I cannot see them
But I can hear them
Canoe on the river
Brilliant orange affair
Oars create waves
Waves ripple to the shore
A serious walker
You can tell from her pace
A slower walker
You can tell from unsteady steps
Swallows, swifts or house-martins
Put on a red arrows display
Now they are all here
Swooping and gliding
And just so soon they’ve gone
Making way for a pair
Of smaller birds
Who come together with a kiss
Maybe I wouldn’t
Remember you
And maybe I shouldn’t
Say I ought
Perhaps it was you
Strolling beside
The library
Window
Or within those glimpses
Of blue blue sky
Seen through the leaves
Of the big green tree
I watch a web being woven
It’s a steady start to the day
The dew on the grass glistens
As I listen to the geese
Fly low over the water
On the opposite hillside
Sheep move orderly
From one field into the other
In the meditation room
There is a breeze to my shoulder
Outside a wind rustles through the leaves
Eyes moving along the horizon
From the dark of night
To the bright light of day
The trees begin as pitch, pitch-black
Gradually turning, or developing
Into a quite brilliant late summer’s green
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