Gate (Without Chains)

I

I did not cross the bridge

For I remembered last year

When your mood overpowered me

You have not been with me so often this time

Though when you do arrive

You do so with no less force of magnitude

II

I had no choice

There were several hours

To be disturbed, distracted 

Overcome, and somehow defeated

So I did cross that bridge

I walked up the cart track

To the five-bar gate

Where, last year

I had, on three occasions

Left my camera case behind

But today I keep my eyes

Firmly focussed

On the leaf

And nutshell-strewn ground

Only at the top of the hill do I wheeze

Wishing to share another cigarette with you

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Sat In The Sensory Garden (Without You)

Early afternoon

On the second day

Of this short personal retreat

Although I have retreated

From anything but my senses

Right now I hear the gulls

And the loud raucous laughter

Of the studious young Americans

Though to be honest

I am unsure what drew them here

Only one or two

Made it into the Abbey

Only one really, on a regular basis

But I did see a vacant-looking girl

Walking by the river

And in the cafeteria

I overheard two young men

Discussing the purpose of their lives

I tell you, they had a great deal

Of street-wise verbose

Even if occasionally

They stumbled

As I also, so so often stumble

To find the right words

To make the sense of which I am after

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Simpler Chapel (Still Without High Church)

That one smile

On that one face

That one fine place

To cause such mischief

That one time

On that one clock

That one sharp shock

To cause such mischief

That one sound

On that one wall

That one late last call

To cause such mischief

That one scent

From that one flower

That one strong power

To cause such mischief

That one breath

On that one nape nerve

That one distinct verve

To cause such mischief

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Complex Chapel (Without High Church)

That one smile

On that one face

That one irreducible place

To cause such mischief

That one time

On that one clock

That one irredeemable shock

To cause such mischief

That one sound

On that one wall

That one irretrievable last call

To cause such mischief

That one scent

From that one flower

That one irresponsible power

To cause such mischief

That one breath

On that one nape nerve

That irreplaceable verve

To cause such mischief

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Pictured (Without Being Framed)

I take photographs

To remind me of the light

To remind me of the season

To remind me of the vulnerability

To say to me

How good it would be if you were here

Sat, on this bench

As we sat, on that bench in Bilbao

Although today

At least here anyway

There are no flâneurs

There are no locals

Walking out, sharing life

Dressed in their Sunday best

Deep in communal conversation

As though there was no tomorrow

Of course, unlike some

We still have all, or at least most

Yes, for certain some, of our tomorrows

Which may well require a form of closer scrutiny

Perhaps a lazy, laconic, poetry video

Of the leaves, slowly drifting to the ground

At Buckfastleigh, or Buckfast Abbey

In the autumn of two-thousand-and-sixteen

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