Take

Take in the air
The smell of the sea
The stench of seaweed
Beached by incoming tide

Take in the sound
The soft splash of leaves
The shriek of gull
Swooping for your ice-cream

Take in the view
The unhurried horizon
The tar splattered rocks
Of the environmental disaster

Take in the touch
The so submissive sand
The discarded broken bottle
That gashes your careless barefoot

Take in the taste
The neeps & tatties
The stale steak and ale pie
Left on the squalid pantry shelf





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HD Day One

How does he do that I ask

I don't tell everyone but this is a sunken shape, coloured with non-reflective pigment says the gallery guide

I go on to ask about the transparent cube?

I can't actually say much about that, Anish is till secretive about some of what makes his fortune

We are outside now, into the industrial landscape, to see art that makes a statement; did I even hear someone say ‘he is the beginning of our fresh shoots of recovery’

Almost impossible to photograph, in isolated entirety at any rate; I am though affected; first physically, from the distance of the footbridge

I feel to be being drawn inwards, as though the wire shape invokes the effects of a fairground vortex
Back on terra-firma my consciousness marvels at their ideas, commends the fine technical skill

We continue our journey onwards, propelled across the river; our first time on a transporter bridge, further impressed we travel up the coastal route, past the tall ships; sails at rest to the backdrop of boarded up terraced houses

We pass edge of town shops, securely shuttered, travel on to a solitary column of rock off the cliffs edge where we take photographs, before checking-in to our 4 star hotel

After a couple of beers, in a pub full of hen-parties we have lamb biryani with aubergine on the side, followed later by a stroll along a quiet promenade
We are in search of the nights invisible starlit moon




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At Table

The straight glass cylinder
Leans over, ever so slightly

As a younger man I might
Have had the certainty
The arrogance to tell you
By how many degrees

But for now let me say
Less than one or two
At least insufficient
To raise any concern

The tube sits on top of a vessel
A voluminous crystal container
For oil or paraffin, or whatever
Would cause the wick to flame

Between the vessel and the tube
There is a mechanical contraption
A geared disk, for the butler
To raise or lower the light

This controlled illumination, with fine adjustment
Is placed at the master, or his guests convenience
There to set the ambiance for their lusts fulfilment
& the more exotic forms of demonic debauchery

Today the whole device is stilled
It as been drained, washed, cared for
It sparkles clean; but it is without use
Other than to fix this writers eye


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Back when you’ve gone away

What did you say
About downtown
On Saturday
Would you so play

There on the bank
The brink of fair happiness
Dressed in mink
She winks and walks on by

Hey now they say
She'll be back
Wait for time to take
The rough cuts… the malady


This poem is from the collection East of Lincoln Central available now on kindle - click on the text for details

Its early how are you

Other singer's songs
Are singing in my head
It's eight in the morning
I'm more alive than dead
I've woke and it's quite early
Sleep came as such a fake
I've spoke to no one lately
But smile so soon I wake
But smile so soon I wake

Other florist's flowers
Are garlands posed deep red
I wait for early warnings
In all the words I've said
I wake within the bird song
Fawn as the love of life is led
I wake in the early morning
Look back at what I've read

It's early; bird's are singing

It's early; I am bringing
Bringing you
Back into my bed
Cocoa pops and cider
Lay right down beside her
Smoke that slow cigarette
Pluck the strings so slow
Undress again my blue
Undress my beauty baby blue

You came to be my lover
You came to be my life
No shame you said to smother
No blame or sacrifice
Other writer's words
Walk easy in my land
Other talkers talk
They seem a happy band
I've woke and it's quite early
Sleep came as such a fake

I've spoke to no one lately
But smile so soon I wake
But smile so soon I wake

Other chartist’s showers
Are sprinkled now unsaid
I wait for curlews blinkered
On the entire world I have fed
I wait with soft words fingered
The gift of life is bred
I wait as lightness itself still lingered
Love laid back on the weeps of wed

It's early how are you
It's early how far you
It's early my star you
Come
Back into my bed
Your fragrance here beside me
Come back into my bed
Your fragrance clear beside me
Calm inside my head

Jelly tots and liquorice
Allsorts; to do with as we wish
Talk that fabled sensuality
Flex my tummy kiss
Undress again my lover
Undress again
My zoobie zombie miss
You came to be my lover
You came to be my life
No name of any other
Past flame to patronise

Other painter's pictures
Are laid upon their stands
My mother's footprints figure
Set soft there in the sand
I've woke and it's quite early

Sleep came home as such a fake
I've smoked for no one lately
I smile so soon I wake
I smile so soon I wake

I've woke and it's quite early
Sleep came home as such a fake
I've choked for no one lately
I smile so soon I wake

I smile so soon I wake
I smile I ache
I smile so soon I wake
I smile for you, I ache for you
I smile for you, I ache for you
I smile for you
I smile so soon I wake
I smile I ache
I smile so soon I wake
I smile, that so soon I wake

This poem is from the collection East of Lincoln Central available now on kindle - click on the text for details