Dusted Off

Is it madness to write her a letter

Is my gladness, at the core or superficial

Am I fickle to trickle down my thoughts

Would it be better, left to someone special

The sadness and the longing have

Made way for songs of joy and loving

Undoing the reticence of my pen 

I sent out freely my words, to many

Without a penny to my name

I regained an eye for beauty

The tutored became the tutor

The suitor thus happy with his suit

The fruits of labour saved her; made her 

Resilient to impediments of single parenthood

She stood in liquid lucidity, independent

Of the love, I was waving behind her door

This is a poem from Vagaries:

Love of The Key to Room 149

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

Great Ouse

I would have written earlier

But I couldn’t find the line

A mix of decay and new ideas

Water lapping, sunlight sparkling

On the crest of the rivers waves

Warmed by that which I call beauty

I am warmed with the writing

Of this letter

It is to you, also to no one in

Particular, except perhaps those

Who have been, or are in love

With sufficient quiet, to hear the

Silent calm among the passions

The dry grasses and the reeds

Buffeted by the spring breeze, the

Water burbles at the bank where

Children with their parents stroll

I wish to close now, move a little

Closer to the drove, ever thankful

For these few moments together

This is a poem from Vagaries:

Love of The Key to Room 149

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

Littleport

I write of you

Not for you

Neither for me

Not even to wander

Nor wonder how you are

I write of you

Not for you

On a Saturday

In the breezy morning

Before the moonlit night

Beneath the stars

I write of you

Not for you

Instead looking up

At the thatched roof

With three brick detailed

Triple stacked chimneys

I write, I write

I write, not of you

Not of you, not of you

Neither for me, not for me

Not on a Saturday

Instead I’m looking up

This is a poem from Vagaries:

Love of The Key to Room 149

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

Tilt

The tears have dried in the stillness

As if yet the silence might roar

In some distant time

In some instantaneously infamous place

It is I think a good question:

Did she ever read the Italo Calvino

Six Memos for the Millennium I mean

A present that I gave her

Did she pick up her pen & write

As I asked of her. Did I appreciate

The beauty that she introduced me to

Do we unfairly put upon our lovers

Do we overload, with expectations

Our friends, relatives, employers and patrons

These I think are good questions:

Did she share my views, my sensitivities

My desires

My incomprehensible flirtations

Did I empathise, or collaborate

Or listen, or co-operate or in any way

By being useful or helpful

The good questions just keep on coming:

Should I expect you to understand how we were

Does it matter that you did not know us

Neither to understand, how & why we were together

If though I tell you; of boating lakes & outdoor

Moonlit Shakespearean theatre, tell you, of vacations

& soft seashores; nights of passionate lovemaking

Does that that require further good questions

I tell you all of this so that you may work out; why we

Are estranged; why we did not communicate

Also to tell me, if, after eight years apart

Is this an unhealthy obsession, have I missed my

Way on the path of grieving, or is it healthy, and

Reasonable to still pour out these words of love lost

This is the last of the good questions, the rest is up to you

This is a poem from Vagaries:

Love of The Key to Room 149

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

Doubtful

I wouldn’t take it past the line end

Unless I was certain of my position

Better to be unsure

Better than being mellow

I wouldn’t try to find a rhymed blend

Other than the strength of my indecision

Better to be blue

Better than being yellow

I wouldn’t close or sign the letter off

Without the crisscross of my derision

Better to be lured

Better than being a good fellow

This is a poem from Vagaries:

Love of The Key to Room 149

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