Chill

I am sat inside

A warm breeze, spills in, through the open door

Tickles the hair on my thin bare legs

I have carried a song

Brooklyn, Brooklyn, Brooklyn Bridge

Carried it all the way from waking

John Berger’s Bento’s Sketchbook is by my side

I bought it four weeks ago, especially for this vacation

I am high with expectation; pray no disappointments

The breeze whistles in the chimney

It reaches here, after having moved with grace

Through the gently-swaying, flowered blue mimosa

On the patio, beside the pool, there is conversation

Happy voices, easy with their laughter

Talk of antique shops, in country villages, & the like

This poem is from the collection 

Ogle

After the afternoon shift have departed

The serious bathers set up shop

Books

With sufficient words

To last

The all of summer

Enough bare skin to captivate

The most discerning of lookers on

This poem is from the collection 

Marinha

Scents of the sea

Sun soaked and shaded respite

Symphonies of waves, lovers at play

A nation, in conversation, within itself

This poem is from the collection 

Noise

Rework

Old sores poured over

Pavements lined with leaves

Perhaps the laburnum family

I kick my feet

On the surface of the pool

Create waved reflections

Of the open blue sky

Ever to have such certainty

That the angle grinder

Would surely have to grind

That as workmen, we work

This poem is from the collection 

Sound Sea

As if the sound of Cadmium Red

Amid the drone of Shostakovich

Would improve the reflection

This poem is from the collection