Intake of Breath

Tiredness, dullness
Again excess takes its toll

Always an irritation
Calls for the scrape of movement

Always the failure
Of concentration provides my escape

I am a fake
Of contemplation

Which itself
Is beyond my state of comprehension

I am out of tune
In mind and body, I am flaked

Rest for rests sake
May be the only stake-able cure

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All In

It will be some time
Before you find me

I look out
Of the window
To the canal; also
In the foreground

My gaze falls
On a straight and plain
Drinkers glass
Used now as a vase

Filled with sunflowers
Tulips, and bluebells
From the woods

My body is exhausted
I have the beginnings
Of a stitch in my shoulder

A result of four long days
Walking, while wearing
My winter overcoat

The exhibition is exuberant
With the works of Vincent:
His ten years as an artist

Given
(We pay 15 euros each)
For all the world to see

Would I have remained
In the yellow house?

Would I have stayed beneath
The blossom in the orchard?

Would I? I might
Except for the fear of practice

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Modern

With the familiar
We are familiar
Yet close up
One eye is green
One eye is brown

& the vertical lines
Are masculine
& the horizontal lines
Are feminine

Within three rooms
To see Mondrian
& Gabo
& Spencer

As daylight falls
Through the window
Blinded
With a fine mesh gauze

Some works
Are never realised
With others
We are never
Familiar, so it seems

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Third Morning

It is the grey mist that wraps itself
Around our borrowed houses

It is the cold air that enters through
Our closed and open windows

It is the time that will bring back
The blue sky and the sunlight

It is all of these and more
Perhaps

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KL 1490

It is the simplicity, there to make one more attractive
In this case a cloth belt, wrapped twice around the waistline
Just sufficient, to create the outline of the female form
Adding to the beauty of this world everlasting

The flight represents the spread of nations, humanity
On the move. We question the goodness of people
I am inclined to think more good, maybe many more
Kate is inclined to think less good, maybe many more less

Beside me the passenger reads
Chapter XIII of William and the Ancient...
We do not share conversation. I write these few words
To remind me of a Saturday morning, the first in April

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