Find only our fortune

White linen suit
Frayed fingers in your making
Can you turn me into a poet
Can you take me to Bohemia
How many wages were spilt
Before being distilled
Made ready
Initiated
Into fashionable society
Arrogantly taken off the peg

The lost province of aristocracy
Past cities of the intellect
Retailer
Wholesaler
Packer
Shipper
Importer
Advertisement executive
And Mr Big

Anyone but you takes the money
For your intricate handiwork
Your lyric, your chorus
Your woven weft
Bereft of any of their cluster
Instead to the isthmus
Or the black hole
Of singular isolated pain

We may find
Only our own fortune
Which may or not sustain
Even for a short while
Until tea or a late supper
Eventually we must
All step out

Bled and undressed
In time for the better fed


Taken from the collection Words in Aspect South Facing - Available from Amazon for Kindle

Ride

The wind blows with gusto
Blusters across the warm garden
If this had been an holiday romance
The sense of it would already be upon us

Warm winds of the west Atlantic
The thrashing storms of Regis seas
Sixpence in the bubble gum machine
Parachutes hung from the citrus tree

In joy we seek out shadows
In sorrow search for somewhere light
That is why we ride the roller coaster
Why we step upon the magic bus

In my deckchair
Meadow grass and mistletoe
A book of passionate poetry
A few daydreams, still time for me


Taken from the collection Words in Aspect South Facing - Available from Amazon for Kindle

Too good to be true

He plays your already chosen songs

Something uneasy for you about him

Sully face, optimistic smile

Darkness she lightens

If it wasn't for her

Not enough of life would be left

You think he's fine, and why not

The public persona is stage managed

Given what we have, what we want to hear

Takes odious steps, ingratiates with practice

Only simple and ordinary men go lightly

White washing blows outside on their lines

More goodness even than to understand

A fragile walk over the derelict rail crossing

On and on and on, deep into the tunnel

Colours drain; your edgy cheeks chill

Is this still pretence, or is it for real

Taken from the collection Words in Aspect South Facing - Available from Amazon for Kindle

Back Off

Your intellectuality burns me
Turns me off
Puts a distance between

…I have heard of the inferiority
Complex, just what she can muster
Harbinger and buster of angst unclaimed

Shame they say is thrust by our
Childs abused muse; in your cloisters
Did you play that game too

Show off to the weak and the lonely
Take advantage but miss the feed of you
Snapshots, crackpots, simply a simple few

Hey I say
Back to where you once belonged
If, in your image of reality it still exists


Taken from the collection Words in Aspect South Facing - Available from Amazon for Kindle

Wild Flowers

In the roof space of silence
And echoed evening’s long
A place this morning
Not yet reached for

Held up by stone pillars
Here in worshipful gathering
A few simple words
Prayer, poem, calls to arms

Wide lakes of sidelights
Shadows grace falls
Touched, just by being
Still with you; to gather

On the slat wood
Sat in the pew
Inset offset imagination
Inactive, attractive so soon

Propagate wild flowers
Poppies, primroses of evensong
Closed and then open
At the time of times sunset

Also open, throughout
The whole of the night
Splashing her perfume
The old peculiar of

Old tobacco, Old Spice
Dominoes, counting games -
Maybe one day she might.
Except once more unable

Tables turned you edge away
Out under the stairway of silence
In flight
You still mis-taste her bite


Taken from the collection Words in Aspect South Facing - Available from Amazon for Kindle