Relativity

Hillside, of country-house
Cotton blouse, some things to say
Words that only woman can speak

Hands held
By the hospital bed
At peace, at the last

Sat, with book in hand
How to begin, on the edge of tear
It is a deep responsibility

The flowers help
How else to say, I wanted to
But do not know how

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Settled For The Evening

A coffee
By the fire
I do not feel to be on my own anymore
And so I smile
Compliment the waitress
On a satisfying vegetarian dish

The lads at the bar
Talk of their mate
Having a kip in the afternoon
Of being
A morning person
Rather than a night owl

In limbo, unsure if
I am neither
One nor the other
Of course it would be good
If you were here
No doubt about that

But it is also warming
That you make me feel
Not to be on my own anymore
There it is
The coffee is here
The flames continue to flicker gladly

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Counterbalance

On this day:

When I have seen a mass of knowledge
Being used
To make some significant systematic mistakes
I am left to wonder
Is this part of the change process
Is this what happens when we move in haste

I watched the invalid
With his wheeled walking frame
He climbed two steps with ease
He managed without the need
Of the kindly offered assistance
I was gladdened by things
Well thought out
And put into use to good effect

Charles said to come here
To this pub in the village
Both he, and his mother recommend it highly
Earlier today, this morning in fact, his father said
“The fried breakfast is on lad”
“Tea and toast will only be a few minutes”

Is this what happens
When the pressure is off
When I eat vegetarian food and drink real ale
As if common sense
Could, or should, return
To the nonsense of corporate business

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Ley Arms, Kenn

Another hostelry, with food and fine Otter ale
Outside a stream flows under the arched bridge
Inside a fire glows in front of the comfortable settee

It might take a while
To get used to beer without a head
But all else is at hand, at ease

You might not believe this next bit
But on this day of change, on this day of newness
I have ordered vegetable curry, with rice not chips

The Monet print shows a lady in the garden
Collecting flower-cuttings for her basket
This could be you my love, if we let the Albertine roses have their day

True in Lincolnshire we do not have that same sun
Which Cezanne or his Fellow impressionists
Carved into the artistic cosmos for perpetuity

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Dancers Wisdom

Caution is the watchword
Listen to the Diaghileff dancing star
Beware that exposure to new experience
Can filter out the magic of past memories

Each day your new favourite photograph
Puts a shade or a tint on yesterdays numero uno
Each day your new life places a formaldehyde cover
Over those bodies that one night pressed effortlessly together

Your stance
Should it have surprised me
To see no more dance; should it have
Stopped me dead in my tracks

That day, for what the image is worth
I framed your words, became your number one fan
Once home I pulled back the dust cloths; recovered
I lay down again on the receptive bed where we had lain together

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