Departure Point

Cream
Or cheese
On white
Or brown
With honey
Or almonds

Indulge yourself
Sit quietly
Think on this time
Your time
No intrusions
If...

Imagine anything you wish
For myself
I walk along a deserted beach
Luxuriate
In the clear and sparkling waters
Think of all those plans
That may one day come to fruition

available for kindle here

Match

Would we dare
Could we fare together
To stop and stare
Share our hopes
As if to the post
We should fold
And fix and tether

Aim to be less clever
Shore as a pair
To climb the stair
Bind our ropes
As with the most
We may hold
And mix and treasure

available for kindle here

The Frequencies Of Noise

Turbulence
In a stationary mind
Caught up
In yesterday's reflections

Caught up in the buzz
Of disappearing
Up ones own
Self centered satisfaction

Always thus
Those past years
Those past sunbeams
Those past stationary glances

Of a thing taken for beauty
Of a person, or an object
Or best of all, of the one idea
That touched some sensitivity

As if to be the butterfly
In an everlasting dream

available for kindle here

Joy Division

Months ago
Or even thirty years
Something to do with control
In the fields of walking

Walking
By the reservoir
Walking
Along the country lane

Walking
With my daughter in a push-chair
Walking
With just a babe-in-arms

Today
By the leat
Or stream
Or brook

With sunlight
In place of control
And quiet enough
To hear the ticking clock

Quiet enough
To think
That in a while I could settle
To think about settling

available for kindle here

Easter Monday

I tried to read my friend Paul's poetry pamphlet
But to be honest
I am not really in the mood right now
Anyway my calves ache
And I am unable to concentrate for long
Probably too much champagne at Ann's eightieth yesterday

Life holds a few surprises
You reading this
Me being thankful for the white cotton sheets and a firm bed
Mind you I had to pass on ordering the breakfast
Eat as much as you can for £7.75  didn't appeal to me at the time
Though I may feel different come the morning

The dream was of a charabanc
With poets and writers
And my mum tugging at her crimplene skirt
Then the dream moved on
To a big cat in ours, and our neighbours garden
A cat as big as a puma, maybe the myth is true after all

I read Paul's pamphlet as I enjoyed a bacon and egg sandwich
And a cup of tea, a sort of half full-english
I was ready by then
I truly did feel to sit with him
In the old church I reached out to rub the patterned stone
I said goodbye to the old lady

Who had opened up specifically for Paul to enter
Paul talks of his love of the almighty
But I thought that his story of lost love
A real life encounter as told to him by the grief stricken girl
That spoke to me of lost love
Being far mightier than the almighty

available for kindle here