Running For The Hills

The water was crystal clear, the parliament buildings behind me were of solid stone, clean stone, plain stone; the building getting its presence from its bold stature, a rigid protective structure, in an otherwise deregulated place

The steps, onto the yacht, had thick guide ropes, one felt steady just by wrapping ones hands around them. The champagne, poured out to greet you, was a surprise to a northern working class chap, but a neat touch nonetheless

Your hosts, businessmen hoping to make money out of your wares, sat you at the head of the table, at the head of the twelve seater, cotton and crystal covered table, with place settings of sterling silver

Anders, with his waxed curled up moustache, raised a toast "Here's to Christopher; I give you a toast to Christopher"

Christopher was thus so easily impressed

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Poets On The Peaks

That hat suits
You look good for dancing
Don't you go bother yourself at all
Drilling down
The night's stars always collide

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Inspired By Grace Nichols' Poem: Like A Beacon

A good suit
A pair of good shoes
A good cotton shirt
A tie
With a good, and strong, woven pattern

He needs these

Articles of faith
Articles of possession
Articles of strength
Ties
Of your articled businessman

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Ingrained Years

Yesterday I thought your face
Appeared mildly oriental
I so wanted to tell you
But could not choose the words
After you said your face felt tired
I should have taken a photograph
To better explain myself
Perhaps you will look vaguely similar
On our next weekend together

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Cool

I sit by the window
In your small armchair
It is cooler here

The slight chill
Through the thin glass
Acts as a counterbalance

To the well-stoked wood-burner
Which keeps the body of the room
Good and warm, roasting some might say

I am meditating
All seemed quiet
But the contemplation
Allows for many sounds

Next doors dog
Is repeatedly disturbed
By the passing traffic

He yelps
Then barks again
Just so that I may be aware

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