Restless soul
Rips at his cigarette
His thin artist legs
Carried quickly by red plimsolls
As he skips
Across the decking
On to the seaweed strewn rocks
By the slow tide of the water
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
Saturday, 27 April 2013
Friday, 26 April 2013
Rain & sun & rain & sun & rain &...
Blue sky to the heavens
Grey mist to the sea
Black, white crested waves
Rothko through and through
Within our imaginary spirits
Thursday, 25 April 2013
Rain for the refreshment of love
There is a song at the waters edge
There are pebbles on vacant sands
There are swirls where the streams of water head towards the sea
There are people, why wouldn't there be
The beauty of this beach idyll is then all but beaten out of me, by Kate's insistence that we carry on walking in the rain, towards a small dwelling, with four windows and a door
I go along with the daftness for a while, but finally insist on returning to the hotel
Kate walks to my left side, taking shelter from the persistent rain; my right side becomes soddened
At the cross roads we turn right, now we walk directly into the wind, and the slanting rain
Kate takes shelter, she walks, just short of a rainfalls depth, behind me; my front becomes entirely soddened
A calm emerges, clear light ahead
There are songs in my head
There are stones for my feet to kick
There are puddles
Ideal for children like me and Kate to skip and splash in
There are people
Why wouldn't there be
Wednesday, 24 April 2013
Rites of Passage
In the back place
A slightly quieter place
Respite from the rain
With leaves strewn
Where bodies swoon
For the love of freedom
Tuesday, 23 April 2013
The overpowering energy of lost love
Memory so easily painted
Soft lights, warm colours
Time past fleeting
Left behind, as time present
Warmth from within
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