Black Book Poems - One

Manufacture

When

The whites

Of your eyes

(In Vienna)

Yes

My story

I so so ought

To place it

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Past Beginning

A poem

Clouded by a play

A play

Shrouded with intimacy

Into love

Walk together

Into life

Stand apart

Into time

Never closer

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Origin Of Species

I was quite determined

You also perhaps

Having given to me

Your telephone number

You also had shown determination

Going up to London to see an old flame

Yet you returned

To invite me onto the dance floor

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Giddy

Un something or other

Goes along

Unknowingly

Unsteady

Unruffled

Underneath

Unknowingly

Undone

Unjust

Just that

That’s all

Unkempt

Undistinguished

Unknown

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Time-Travellers

From a small space

To a nowhere place

A meandering stream

To a river in spate

From a village

To a county

Which I call my own

Yet where I don’t belong

From a main road

To a motorway

Over a suspension bridge

To a walled city

Where love

Invited me

To the gallery

Then the theatre, and finally the hotel

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Dark Light

My breath

Blows the candles out

My hand

Winds the blind open

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Wet Sands

Wallace Stevens

Let the fish go

I hung-on

To our sea-fret moorings

Now I talk of Saturday’s sunlight

In what is the overlong season of mists

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Gifts

Looking for a thought

With which

To begin the day

A place perhaps

Or a wave lapping

On a sun-soaked beach

Looking for a light

With which

To illuminate the idea

To present a future

From the past

Or maybe the present

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Locations

You are here

Here in this house

Here, in this room

We sit together

In meditation

Also, in the bedroom

We lay together

To become closer

More-so than in love

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Destinations

Finding my feet

Friday morning’s flight

Giving all

To the new direction

Met at the airport

Taken to the shops

Then onto Mon Plaisir

For a close and warm embrace

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Micro

Our life

A cosmos

On a pinhead

In the Exhibition

Without strife

A fine dust

Particulate

Situation

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Pathways

I have been to many places

Alone and alone

I have studied lots of subjects

By myself and by myself

I have listened to millions of songs

With my own company for accompaniment

I sat on buses, trains and aeroplanes

Taking just the one seat, just the one

I watched football in the park

Not joining in, no not joining in

I self-published my books of poetry

For only me to read, only me to read

Now I am studying psychology and counselling

But I have no clients or patience

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Dress Sense

Is that why

She wore a mini-skirt

Or was it because

She thought

If she looked good

She felt good

And that was

To her mind

Way better

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