Vertigo (Without Resolution)

Lighthouse, and vertigo 

Radar-ball, and vertigo

Coastal-path, and vertigo

You get to the point

Hartland Point, and vertigo

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Frills (Without Embraces)

It would be wrong of me not to arrest the images of you, scantily clad, in the shortest of frilly skirts

You bring me close to you, and I am unable to stop the thought processes; for miles and miles I am thus absorbed

I even begin to wonder if I will ever be able to shake off these thoughts; what if they were always to stay with me, my eyes feel heavy, my head feels heady

I am driving towards you, albeit, in my own version of the truth, I am driving for a quite different purpose

Hours go by before I reach anywhere near your vicinity

The sadness is scattered to the moorland, the hurt lies on the riverbed, the immense fear, for isn't it the greatest of fears, to be fearful of oneself, is inculcated into the baron landscape

I walk the dark streets, too dark for my camera to develop the warm glow (to the naked eye) of the church clock

As I pass the bus station I make up a story, about my B&B being just behind here, behind this very place, where three times every hour the buses will arrive; to carry out their complicated, and seriously noisy, and intrinsically disturbing, reversing manoeuvres, before they accelerate, with loud aggression, to depart, on their way to who knows where; the buses are empty now, and I expect that will also be the case, many hours later

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Trepidation (Without Gratification)

Quite the opposite to Emptiness Dancing

Brought on, in part, by today's destination

And last night's early disruptive dream

Neither of which I desire to expand upon

Except to say that relationships

And their dissolution, played significant parts

Not at all the synthesis

Of the sunlight, and the leaf, and the raindrop

As enveloped

On that quiet Sunday morning in the countryside

Nor as felt

On that slow drive, along narrow, puddled lanes

With hedgerows guarding the ploughed fields

With trees sprinkling, not interfering, with the view

Quite the opposite, to the moorlands

With their exposed outcrops of rock

Where the blue, serially activates the doubt within

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They Carry My Pictures

Better in the morning
Sunlight
Fancy shoes; your hand upon
My navel

Briefly you open your eyes
Smile
At my silent thank you
And then

Right beside the birdsong
Under the bluest of skies
Where I gave you my
New found virginity

Told you more than ever I know
More than ever
The cooing bird
Or the gentle breeze

Listen;
Do you hear
They carry my pictures
My pictures

Pictures
Of
And by
The morning

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The Private House

If you should drive
Past Cow Pasture Barns
You will see a sign for; well
Make your own mind on that

The sign says
Potatoes £4-00
Nothing more, nothing less, quite simply:
Potatoes £4-00

Before the barns
Before the private house
The private house
Which used to be a public house

You may see the old man
The old man in the big garden
I don't expect, unlike the potato sign
That he is always there

But he was there, today
In the big garden
The big garden
Before the corner

The corner with the private house
A private house
Which used to be a public house
A public house before the Cow Pasture Barns

The Cow Pasture Barns with a sign that says
Potatoes £4-00
No more, no less - ever so simple
Potatoes £4-00

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