Outside

It was cold
And I was ok with that

The crazy paving was dry
The garden grass was wet
And I thought that was fine

The car boot clicked
And opened

I saw the porridge
The day had started well

Available on Kindle

A 26 Mile Walk For A Bar-Meal

On this day, when I read the obituary of a man whose destination was Sheffield

I was told, by a different man, the story of him getting lost in the woods, with a psychologist from match.com

And a lady came by East Coast Rail, to tell the story of putting the young couple, on their honeymoon, into single beds

Earlier, by the fire, old photographs were browsed, from the black-and-white, and sepia-tone archives

The few were gathered, before you spoke carefully chosen words, of love, and care; you told of a life well lived

I myself had a moment, on leaving the shopping centre, where I had left you, so that you might catch your own train, half way home

Available on Kindle

Thornton-in-Craven

The canary yellow wall had a coal fire at its heart
A fire, that on this November the fourth morning
Like many November the fourth mornings
Had been lit good, and early
Such by the time that we arrived
It had a warm and welcoming glow

To the right of the fire
Not quite in the alcove sat Andrew; a man
Who knew a good deal about photography
He told me that the bright sunlight, which
Was falling onto the chimney breast
Would make it a difficult image to capture

He also told me that he had spent a large
Part of the last years of his wife’s life
‘Watching on’ instead of ‘joining in’ thanks
To his fascination with the camera
I took photo’s anyway, with Kate’s smartphone
A few shots, although I haven’t yet seen them

I doubt that I captured the honeycomb
Of golden fragments, that fell from the crystal
And scattered themselves in the hearth of the fire
Neither did I pick out the words inside the cards
That cluttered the mantelpiece, beneath
The painting of a younger woman

We listened to Paulo Nutini
We heard him many times, on that day
We talked about an underground ballroom
At the Harley Art Gallery, somewhere near Worksop
I told Andrew about an obituary, that I had read
In the morning’s Guardian newspaper

Available on Kindle

Reminder To You

Don’t forget this day
The first frost of a new winter
The Skipton hotel
With a glass-case of jewellery, and pottery
Your black dress, with autumn flowers
My dark bespoke suit, and heavy overcoat

Don’t forget we had time
To sit in front of Ruth’s coal fire
Have friendly conversations
Shine shoes
With metallic shoe-polish
And prepare for the service

Don’t forget your spoken words
And your hand, touched
To the coffin; but first
The words spoken informally
By Grace; words of the treasured
Times they had shared

Don’t forget the meal
The stories of Bob’s adventures
With computer dating; remember
His story of getting lost
In the woods, with the psychologist
That he met on match.com

Don’t forget to try and create
An image of Ruth, and Rosie
Out, on their early morning
Walk, in the fields, with
Fiona’s dog, in the countryside
Around Thornton-in-Craven

Don’t forget how we kissed
Outside the toilets
In Meadowhall; you taking
Back shoes, and buying
A coat that I have not
Yet seen

Don’t forget I am
Writing this at three
O’clock in the morning
And that there is doubtless
Much, much more
That I have already forgotten

Available on Kindle

Delicate

What is missing
Is what I choose
My way
Of keeping private

Those particular
Personal relationships
That in any event
Are difficult to transpose

From the significant
Insignificant airs
To the insignificant
Significant words

The girl, there with her mother
Trying on the Tyrian
Purple velvet coat, and floppy hat
Being one such moment

Available on Kindle