Wild West

Country Lady, in your country hat

You walk around the rapeseed field

Where do you walk to, where from

Do you carry a bucket, or is it a basket

That swings from your delicate arm

You go out of sight, behind the tree line

Return only a few moments later

Have you been to feed the livestock

Or to gather up magic mushrooms

Stereotypes prevail in this life

Thus I would care for the reader

To imagine your Barbour wax jacket

Your green wellington boots

And your scarf by Abercrombie

Thrown playful on your shoulder

I cannot imagine

That you fetched water from the brook

Though if the reader could imagine

The stream is translucently clear

It sparkles vividly in the morning sun

As it traverses onwards down the valley

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Rural And Cosmopolitan

Raindrops, grey skies
At least the crops grow
Though I understand that is as much down
To chemical spray management
As it is due to the vagaries of the weather

Science, is it all good
Is it wise to know too much about transformation
To be able to speed up growth, or to slow down death

A motor-cyclist parks by the side of my car
Two engines that originated on mainland Japan
Immense developments in technology and engineering
We are both able to travel at over one hundred miles an hour
Yet we still choose to take eggs for breakfast

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Soul Mates

We, we set ourselves up
As if we meant to carry on
Shared hotel room
Bottle of wine
A musical performance
And tickets for the theatre
In contrast, markedly
To earlier struggles
Nights of shadow boxing
Shallow explanations
Ruthless persuasions

If the foundation
Is a series of bombardments
Why to expect that the settlement
Will be any less circumspect
Whereas in this latest beginning
All edges are already smooth
Beauty of maturity is preferred
To the recklessness of youth
With seemingly all
And everything to lose

It seems undoubted
I now begin to realise
That this time we have the nouse
To hold off the conclusion

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Four AM

Visualisations are hidden
Behind a mesh
Of grasses
And fibrous gauze

That image
From the beach
Fourteen years ago tomorrow
It is no more than grains of sand

The book, the stainless steel wrist-watch
The ubiquitous mobile telephone
They are by my bedside
Beneath the glow of the table lamp

Out into the darkness, all to see is reflection
The night hides the banked up woodlands
The night silences the usually intrusive wildlife
The night holds the day's mind at bay

Surrounded, swathed
In cotton and quilt
Within touching-distance
Of leather and porcelain

These walls though
They do not carry my pictures
My past is not ingrained
Within their stone and timber

A realisation: it is what matters
Another kind of wake up call
A time to focus, rebuild past memories
At least, to try to hold on to the treasure

And so to practice
As if in a mindful meditation
Climb the mountainous steps
To the peace of the monastery

I will:
Polish the lens of the glasses
Set the wristwatch to one side
Unplug the sim-card from the mobile phone

In final preparation:
Turn down the light of the bedside lamp
And, being thankful of breath and breathing
I will pick up my pen and write

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Spacious Subjectivity

All over the place
Wide-awake
In the middle of the night
Half asleep
In the middle of the day

Caught up
On a roller-coaster
Looking through kaleidoscopes
A whirling dervish of rampant
Uncontrolled minds activity

Lost in this midst
Any focus on passion
Any hold on the erotic
Any thoughts to draw one
Towards unconditional love

It is dark outside
Time to turn off the light
Silence the tick-tock sound
Of the alarm clock
Which holds back
The nuisance of the day

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