Once more YKB

If the week could be longer

Strength of mind turned

By the fruits of our own design

As we walk the surf side line

If the bonds then stronger

Length of loss spurned

By the cuteness of our own time

As we talk the blue of Yves Klein

This poem is from the collection 

Tuesday Tea

Willow, water, reed

Feed into timelines

To tread back-along

Natural sounds (sheep, birds, bees)

Camouflage the road noise

Still the rumbles of the aircraft

Destined for those other places

I went there myself

It was a while ago

I am often reminded

She met me at the airport

She was happy

For she knew I wasn't straying

Destined for those other places

In those days I often took a cigarette

I would care for one now

If only for the memory, of deep inhalation

This poem is from the collection 

Gentleness

The kiss, love and care entwined

Thank you for being a poet

Or at any rate someone indefatigable enough

To read your own words for our neighbour & friend

The kiss, care with love enshrined

Thank you for being a person

Or at any rate someone, exceptionally

Understanding enough, to put up with the poet

This poem is from the collection 

La Corbière

Pulled by the spray plumes

Subsumed by the outcrop of rocks

A sound foundation for the lighthouse

I escaped here when the noise rose

Not as a perpetrator you understand 

Silent, non-committal, more my usual stance

Infinite skies atop the endless sea

Vast expanses, mystery aimed at, within and without

Room beyond reason for all of my doubts

I stood there

On the rough moorland grass

At the start of the track to the shoreline

From this safe distance 

I watched boys play in the pools

I had no need of engagement

An irregular rumble of the waves from France

Occasionally a flurry; with the rise and crash

As though over excitement was in the air

A sort of ‘new shoes and fancy hairdo for the party’

Type of mood, it often lifted me

Brought me, back home, to the new noise of life

This poem is from the collection 

Ownership

I was so very deeply hurt

Laid on the bed

At a loss

I stared out of the bay window

Into the infinite leafless tree

In the neighbours garden

Of course I left

Flight or flight; no contest

I convinced myself of the end

 

I returned later

But only to collect

My permanent possessions 

Yet I could not countenance

Taking away the poster

It was, after all, given as a gift

Prestigious; a limited edition

An individually signed copy

Bang on the money, as ever

This poem is from the collection