Warm Air

From the washing machine to the Brabantia
Washed and spun blue jeans
Solid years of solid substantia

Abstinence keeps the hangover at bay
Yet not a day goes by
The drift the mirage the ghost of abstentia

The blossom bouncing the birds chirping
The writer at his ease at his writing
He collects the dust he throws the confetti

And the blackbird runs do blackbirds run
This blackbird runs across the cedar shingle tiles
Runs right up to the edge right up to the very ledge

And he can't help but thinking
Is she wasting away will she soon
Be no more than the bones of a lived life

And he can't help himself but to write about
The doubt the depth the chill the fret
The sweat beads of improbable deferentia

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Nettle

Nettle patch a fractious square
Of not to fall of not a good place to roll
Lift the latch the iron catch of the back door
Step out skip off the stone floor imprisoned no more

Run across the yard sprint across the yard
Instinctively open the five-bar gate wait
Look across at the hens and the sycamore tree
Turn and trip slip into the edge of the field

Yield yourself to the sting bring tears to your eyes
Despise that odd-shaped misplaced stone go home
To the dock-leaf cure be sure to rub long and hard
Cards on the table you had been a naughty boy

The joy of the morning all taken the early awakening
No longer now special the feral life
Is not for everyone the love is going the love
Is gone shone out onto someone other

An older or a younger brother or your mother
Or a lover such things as you did not yet know about
The shout to stop you screaming the dream
That life could ever be so innocent

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Downs

Calm ground unfurled unflustered
Ready for the sway
Ready for the days of the circus
And the canvas tents

As sent with the sun of spring and summer
After the days of lent and winter
And the autumn of dark dingy
And mild discontent until the moon

And the stars flickered the bickering
Household left behind the drive
And the walk to remind one
Of the chalk faces the places

Where to wander and talk to softly
Joke of never having been anywhere
Quite so peaceful so solid so steady
Ready for our footsteps for our breath

The depth of despair beware here
You are no match for this immanence
Your belligerence falls four-square on the floor
The door to earthly paradise is you see open

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On The Beach

All alone with a pebble with a stone
With a cobweb in my head
Throw the stone skim the pebble
Don't you be led by the cobwebs in your head

Morning to afternoon to evening to night
With a rattle-bag for a mind
Dance in the morning kiss in the night
Don't you be unkind to your rattle-bag of a mind

All alone except for one other one other one
With such thoughts of love
Hold onto one other hold one other one
For all above carries such thoughts of love

Light to dark to peace to calm
With a nod to contemplation
Settle into the light edge into the calm
For all in love are due a time for contemplation

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Dusted Reflection

I know that you know that I know
That they are only flowers in a vase
Reflected in the dusty glass
Of the wood-burner

You know that I know that you know
That we don't light fires in April
Although it Sometime Snows in April
If you remember from the song or the film

Here now laying on the Axminster & Wilton
To take the matching photograph
I am limited then limited again
By what little my eyes see

We know you and I we know don't we
That there is more to this scene
Than flowers (carnations) in a vase
Reflected in glass which needs cleaning

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