Cabin

Hemingway you said

Read a little Hemingway

Listen to some old Buddy Rich records

Perhaps a bite to eat, smorgasbord or the like

All of this sat by the log fire

With flames away up the chimney

Outside the snow falls

The pathways from the woods are iced over

Those once lively animals have settled

Into burrows and nests, there is no wind

The tufts of grass are all but hidden

By the settled flakes of joyous alimentation

This is a poem from Filmic: Love of Our World of Purples & Blues

Available as ebook from Kindle
or as a homemade print book, and audio cd from  poetryshop 

Cobbles

I think it is the French connection

Yes that long glass of Kronenburg 1664

Ice cold larger in the blaze of a setting sun

Always I guess we are taken back

That is what time on our own provides

I hope it does the same for you

So let's go back to the Gaelic persuasion

To summer nights by St Ives harbour

A few beers and chilled white wine

A meal with artful conversation

Out then into the midnight air

Onto the seashore; kissing, skipping

No wonder occasionally we take a drink

Especially from the French connection

This is a poem from Filmic: Love of Our World of Purples & Blues

Available as ebook from Kindle
or as a homemade print book, and audio cd from  poetryshop 

Opposition

Sun sets

In deep resplendent red

Over the distant range

Of silhouette hills

Geese chuckle madly

Through the cusp

Of day and dusk

Somewhere

The evening primrose

Commences its rapid movement

The night at Emerson College

Is thus remembered

All the while I try to calm myself

After a workplace altercation

This is a poem from Filmic: Love of Our World of Purples & Blues

Available as ebook from Kindle
or as a homemade print book, and audio cd from  poetryshop 

Write of Love

I only want to write of love

If I might ever be able to re-create

Such absolute moments of earlier presences

As I sit here, with ease of time

To reflect, later in my life

I don't want to write specifically of those times

Rather I want to explore what is in that thing

Called love; love that flowed freely through

My veins and right now, as I sit at this table

What is in that thing called love

That brings me to another joyous embarkation

I am not tired of love, but I am tired

Physically, and mentally, tired

I begin to doze behind the wheel

I enter that dream space of love

Between existence, pre-existence and post-existence

The motorways I travel are loves endless corridors

A space where past memories happily co-exist

Beside the soundtracks of Motown and Woodstock

Would I benefit from a warm massage

To luxuriate in the love of oils, aromas

Atmospherics and the surer love

Rub of soft skin on soft skin

Would that shaft of sunlight

Falling on to the green trees

Of a north country castle morning

Would that, and the clear blue sky

Be remembered every time I hear

This is a poem from Filmic: Love of Our World of Purples & Blues

Available as ebook from Kindle
or as a homemade print book, and audio cd from  poetryshop 

No One

At first you hear nothing

Then the passing of a single automobile

Effectively disturbs you

At first you remember no one

Then the passing of a car reminds you

Of that amorous trip to London

At first you sought out

Fast and loose excitement

Now peace and quiet is what eludes you

Sit at the second floor window

Sit and stare into half apparent

Darkness; at first hear nothing

At first think of no one

Where then better, to let the nights

Certain intensities begin

This is a poem from Filmic: Love of Our World of Purples & Blues

Available as ebook from Kindle
or as a homemade print book, and audio cd from  poetryshop