Out Of Reach

Sulphurous dust parades along the fragmented lines of the faraway horizon
To the south a fire cloud is billowing, yet so faraway that the source remains unseen

The artist would make a better job of this than my words have ever conjured; my friend, the photographer, he would have captured both the essence of the scene, and the escarpments of my mood in its reflection

I am tempted to leave it at that - to know when one is beaten is no bad thing is it?

The problem though is that the artist and the photographer were not present, they never are, and they most likely never will be

I will persevere, recollecting my night overlooking Lyme Regis promenade when I innocently professed about the way the writer has more tools, at his elbow, than either the picture taker or the picture maker; right now I am a little unsure about my poem Now There Is No Horizon; for perhaps I have gone beyond

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Elements

Water flows over a stone
Love sails onto the ocean

From ocean to stone
From stone to ocean

Love is our soul’s commandment
Water is our self’s enchantment

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Church Plaque

John Henry Vessey
Was not slothful in business
And his soul is laid to rest
And his body waits for the sunrise

John Henry
John Henry
Soul laid to rest
Body waiting for the sunrise

And they sing their songs
And they tell their stories
And we fill their coffee cups
And we eat their chocolate biscuits

John Henry
John Henry
Soul laid to rest
Body waiting for the sunrise

John Henry Vessey
Was not slothful in business
And his soul is laid to rest
And his body waits for the sunrise

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C & C

A long way from
Cold comfort farm
It is too cold for comfort

Sat at a non wiped table
In a converted aluminium barn
I feel too old for comfort

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Twin-Heads

Only by leaving
Through a door
Down a path
Into a big wide world

Only by action
More than breathing
More than thinking
Yes, by actually doing

Only by stopping
Slowly, and so surely, observing

Only by waiting
For the light, and the shadow

Remembering midnight
Church moths in the headlights
Remembering afternoon poems
Butterflies in the garden

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