Spinning

It is the quiet

The dry tears of absence

The heartfelt, scoured for words

That move nothing closer to nothing

The magnolia wall

Is within touching distance

I remember the bowl of pebbles

The tools of tried & failed reconciliations

Today; wind down the chimney

Work on the printer

The desire, o what desire

To be alone, on ones own

The bookshelves sorted

One hundred and fifty

Volumes of poet’s poetry

Most with a tear for my eye

It is this half-silence

The washing-machine of presence

The close-felt, scoured for clothes

That keep nothing further from nothing

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

Break in Service

A camper, or a canal boat, or a caravan

To go places in confined spaces

Finding out, just who on earth I am

An iPod, or a laptop, or a roaming internet plan

To write letters to my so-called betters

Pointing out, the beauty wherever I can

Usherettes & launderettes & Kingdoms of Bhutan

To refresh our vests, and impress the rest

I hoped you’d halfway understand

That there is a decorum, a standard for this man

Who missed the introduction to love, but

Who tries to make up, to head off the lifetime ban

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

Trickling Brook

Is it, that I’ve missed you, or

That I’ve nothing else to write

Is it, that I kissed you, yes, on

That moonlit midsummer night

Is it, as I’ve often insisted, or, that

The darkness should follow the light

Is it, that you resisted, yes, on

That chance meeting of second sight

Is it, that I tricked you, or, that already 

I was outbound, mind & body in flight

Is it, you the calm, cool, critic, yes, on

The explanation of what is & isn’t right

Is it that on looking back, or, that

In search of your once elusive slight

Is it, you of the distant missive, yes, on

That cloud of effervescent, silver-white

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

Eight Lines & Spent

Four, four line verses; five tablets, morning 

& night; wilful, reckless with explorations

Sensations that I neither describe nor capture

Fractured segments from a life regimented

To exposure; the disclosure both fast and free

With loose associations: walks by seas & oceans

Motions in search of beauty’s seeds of procreation

Thighs in that heavenly place, between her knees

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

Costa

I have found a place by the entrance
A good draught blows over my shoulder
The cake is Granola, yet
I am still embraced by Yorkshire air

Your jeans may also be tattered at the
Bottoms; we are all getting older
I will buy the crayfish & rocket
For high tea in my hotel room

This part of my lifetime, spent
In cafes, hotels and service-stations
Contributed to my downfall, in matters
Of health, and in affairs of the heart

In recompense it now offers me my writing
The opportunity to observe, the chance
To sip my coffee more slowly; I am
In no hurry, do not rush to reply

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