Bridge

The canal surface is calm
The wind turbines are still
The power station is quiet
The morning mist is lying
And what about you
And what about me

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Ajar

A door finds its own place of rest
This need not be fully open, nor fully closed
The natural position will depend on many things:

The geometry, set up by the skill of the craftsman
When the door was hung, and balanced upon its hinges

The forces at play, perhaps a draught through a nearby passage
A rug, or carpet, or loose flooring that creates friction at the underside

The weight, and the fortitude of the door, which brings its own resilience
Enables its own inherent ability to stay put where it determines to stay put

If we wish to have the door fully open, or fully closed
We may have to employ additional methods or mechanisms:

A jam to wedge beneath, probably with a gripping and kicking routine
Or a weighty stop, a cast iron relic, that is given to lazily lay in a leaning posture

A catch to catch upon a hook, or a latch with a push or a slam to assist the location
Maybe also with a key-lock, or bolt, which raises security, to a purposeful higher plane

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Over Arched

Old stone buildings
Castles, hotels and public bars
A feast day in the Basque Country
Your friends; excitable, too excited
Pulling lights, and coffee makers
From the walls of reception rooms

You try to repair the damage
But have no tools to reconnect
The oversized electric wires

You stand aloof
With a calm, clearer view
Of the distant horizon
You expect she will
Arrive soon enough
But for the moment

You are independent
Majestic in your oneness
Sound in this your homeland

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Intrinsically Given

In the instant
Of reading that one word
An entire mountain of miasma is swept aside

And how, the Buddhist might ask
Could you invest such trust in another’s
Simple expression

Easy becomes love
When the merest hint
Of the gift of affection is offered
Said the poet, the writer, the flaneur of dreams

I ask that you don't give up
For I have given up
Given up way too often
Given up way too soon

In that moment
Imagining the one word spoken
The aeroplane of joy is already boarded

And how, the analyst might ask
Could you hold such faith in one others
Sonic explorations

Vibrations of love
Soothe and excite our minds
As potent as the gift of youth's elixir
Said the poet, the writer, the flaneur of dreams

Four crows cling to a sapling
Two flocks fly above
Above of who knows where
Above of who knows why

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Perceptions

Every image carries the means of resurrection
The reams of recollections pour forth unabated
Light and darkness equally weighted, sincere
That the reappearances were unplanned, more
By chance, and happenstance than any more
Furtive or regurgitative motive, voted in by
Darker knights, or prevailing queens, scenes
Of love, and lore, and lust before the cusp of
Nightfall called again, for fear of falling rain
The pain is covered with just enough green
Tarpaulin to turn the nosey parkers rolling back
Stacked up against the often, slow-played, refrain
The midnight train, to nowhere more than images
That flash by, for girls that cry, and boys so sly
Going away to that land of evermore, to score the
Fateful wonder why, trying, dying for introspection
As if their correction could be found on rails that
Run underground, that sound out the steelwork
Echoes, the ghettoes of the fathers past, the last
Night at the proms, the Strombolian sailor boy
Who casts out, with a faded shout; land ahoy, decoys
Are everywhere, however deep the stare, or quick
The glimpsing of ships that passed in the night
Tighter now, shedding plight of previous owners
Condoners of the ugly sins, loans made within
To souls that have fallen into disrepair, fearful of
Their dereliction of duty, and absentmindedness

Available on Kindle