Views And Memories (While Driving)

Up towards the horizon
Of thinly spaced winter trees
Freedom is proposed
By the wide and open foreground

Only then, in that instant
Or backalong, down the promenade
Transported to the Americas
To the boulevards and the prairies

O sausages! yes that is what she said
Already in a tither (strop)
But what help could I be
For already I had lost my mobile phone

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Another Time, Another Place

Long bushy eyebrows
Woolen bobble hat
Creased old face
With white eyes
Pierce all
That lie ahead

In the last fling
Of what sort of life
Here, in this northern
East coast town
And not, beside
Horse chestnut trees
On the Champs-Élysées

Is it about ambition
Or the lack of it
Is it about birthright
The gifts of the gifted
Or is it contentment
A life always at ease

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Rights And Privileges

I want now to sit in last night's room
I want to soak up the atmosphere in the Roman cellars

But in these are places
Where I want to engage
In solitary confinement
Even to scare myself
By asking the personal
Dangerous questions
Lower the facade
Of the ubiquitous
Self-important
Self-made man

Afterwards it is true I might well stumble down the stairs
Of the, glass floored, cosmopolitan, drinking establishment

Take too much liquor
Than is good for my sobriety
Or my longevity
Then contemplate
That either way these are the games played out
Or not
Wearing the masks
And deceptions
Of our forefathers
Or our ravishing maidens

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Day Off

I am and have been loved
I am and have been cared for
I am and have been given
Thoughtful, mindful, presents

Today is not my birthday
But it could be (echoes of Damon)
The sky is blue, the air is clear
I am here, with a smile

The tide is out
Out beyond the gas exploration platform
Waifs and strays stray onto the pier
To tread gingerly on the old wooden boards

Even in March people sit outside
On the benches, to look easily at the sea
From the coffee bar
Where they sip cappuccino, and swig tea

Today is not my birthday
But it could be (more echoes of Damon)
The scones are warm, the strawberries are fresh
I am here, I am sated, and I am happy

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Ambient Wind

It would have been better had she not turned around
For until that time it could have been...

There are smiles
And how good an idea was that
Is it the same for golden eagles
Or hawks as they hover over their prey

There are frowns
Must life have a balance
Is it the same for the trees
For the skies filled with rain clouds

The book had a small map
To set out the Channel Islands
In relationship to England and Europe
At the time of the second world war

Just these last twenty-four hours then
To have returned there; purge all sense
Recollect fragmented memories broken up
By falling on bare and stony ground

Slip into sleep, eyes slowly close
Breathe quiet and steady
Artificial lights dimmed
Starlight through half-drawn curtains

Warm skin by my side
Humanity, love, relationship
The power of two, yet tonight no frolicking
Build up our energies for the weekend

Earlier a conversation
About the beauty of books
And a research paper analysis
On the benefits of methadone treatment

In a shared care environment
A thousand and one statistics
Followed by a drifting departure
Away from the publisher's stated aim

Years ago
Not many years ago
Actually
I would have been impatient, disinterested

Too many of my own thoughts
Filled my mind back then
I was caught by the power of frown
I had forgotten how to smile

Overloaded
Yet a walk on the moors
Or steps pensively taken
Into cold salt-water at the seashore

More sensations
Than our senses are able to absorb
Or make sense of
Is that true or is that false

Salted air
Purer air
Soft submissive sand
Rugged frigid rarefied rock

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