Bedroll

I forget how many times I've turned over for passion

Or was it for compassionate leave

To grieve for nights that wander by no more

Or was it, for some misguided reason

To try and even up the score

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

Chimes Café

Some places get it just on right

With cream & green & rattan

The aroma of the baking

Travels with the light

The old cottage window

Preserved from the past

Candlesticks and flowers

Nought that moves too fast

The coffee & the flapjack

Tiled roof’s up to the sky

Another makeshift morning

Slow time; simply wandering by

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

Premier

The cloth is cut
By a utilitarian

Breakfast cooked
By a journeyman

Out of the window
A dual-carriageway

Where are the songs
& the time to play

So contrived; the roll
Of out of focus flowers

On the bedroom wall
Hinting at a quieter hour

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

Vagaries

Her physical size

In the apparition

Brings a comfort

Also her just ease

At following, ever

So slightly behind

As you, somewhat 

More pronounced

Opened your heart

And the three of us

Strode out, off into

The full day’s sun

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

Gloss

There was a photograph

Of the Italian restaurant

At the cross roads of Regents Street and Piccadilly

There was a photograph

Of the red lighthouse

Where we listened to the historian & film maker

These are in a magazine

Issued free to hotel guests

Partly to celebrate the area, also so that travellers 

May feel more at home in their retereat surroundings

We had eaten in the very same San Carlo Cicchetti

It was the occasion of my sixty-first birthday

We drank a glass of forty-nine pounds a bottle Barolo wine

Passed on a taste of our dish, to the Irish American travellers

We had met the historian and film maker by that red

Lighthouse, near the wobbly statues at South Shields

We were n our way to the Hebridean Isles via Sunderland

Edinburgh, Findhorn and Ullapool; he gave me a business card

Such that memories are remembered, in half-empty

Hotel rooms; such that triggers are triggered again

Wherever and whenever the sun goes down

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