Slip

I was scrambling on a mountain side in England's Lake District. It was one of two ways that I had found into the bar of an Open University summer school. I had made the trips several times already but on each occasion I found myself back on the mountainside.

A party of Americans approached, they asked if this was the only way; before I could answer I felt a rock slipping, I screamed at them to get out of the way. Calmly I took hold of the sliding slab, I steadied it's progress, then slowly guided it to rest, against and between two, more solid, outcrops.

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Human Dream

All of humanity
In the shirt not ironed
& the hair unbrushed

All of humanity
In the smiling eyes
& the schoolgirls crush

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Travelled

All of hope
Where waters part
To observe the joke
Through the viewfinder
Of life's twisted periscope

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Length

I am often on my own
Yet I yearn to be alone
I am often in silent reflection
Yet I long for peace, and quiet

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Club

Someone has to work it out
Fill in the duty roster, allocate the tasks
I put myself down to be the wandering poet
A sort of absent-in-extremis wishy-washy role

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