Faraway

I send you a letter
That I love at the time of writing
And then forget
Next day another phrase catches my ear
But let  it not be called an internal rhyme

We talked of the camera obscura
A photograph, a thousand points of view
Through the window, over the valley
One mile more or less from the ford

In summer’s heat perspiration began
The muddled, befuddled mind…
To slow down, or jump in the pool
With or without question

In the letter I hoped for a reply
Did you


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

Who goes there

Prickly stalk of bramble
Who would not be hurt by your graze
Or by the loud voice of that bully of a teacher
The fat show off, full of arrogant contempt

Willows; sway in all those wild winds
Of slaughter
Show your flex to sustain your summer
Give your shape, it’s beauty, fair play and free

Tarmac, trodden with heavy boots
Braziers, flames, smoked aromatic moisture
Laid down over lost pastures, flattened
Trimmed, dismissive, with a massive machine

Freeway, autobahn, rhetoric
The rhetorical question
Listen - can you hear the tough guys
Hear them, they are all alone


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

A young man becomes an old man

Warm silence
Ice cold beer
Anger and forgiveness
Inadequate without complaint

Mellow gentleness
Distraught with blame
Shadows and suspicions
Unable to find a name

Whispers cold
Chilled; the
Sisters of mercy
Awash with fear

Soft sensitive
Belongings
A quiet  walk
Before being buried alive


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

Wait - please do not disturb

In between the rafters
Beneath the flattened lead
A regenerative recirculation
Still yet moving, slow air

The breath of silence
Slower than the breeze
Black cloaks stride out
Tread the aisle with purpose

All of those old words
Roof space freely had you
Praised other men’s verse
Worse to leave you left

Without your own memories
Absent of your own meditations


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

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