Communicating

I was working at the time for a large, innovative, high technology firm, although I wasn't always sure that their inventions were all that new; they were something to do with energy and light.

We were on a works outing, to a large park, covered with snow; we were instructed to build snow houses. I was with you, ours was a major construction, more stone and ground rather than just snow.

At one point I was pushing an old wall down, and I had to ask you to move. We had dug a big hole, about twenty or more feet square; I wasn't sure what we were going to do for the roof.

At one point I pulled you towards me, but you pushed me away and said that no, we weren't on the same network, for she had bought a pay-as-you-go mobile phone.

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Ache, No Mistake

Just my words, pulled together, in the car
Just my way to feed into the ache
Just my way to stake a case
To rake up the past, with indelicate haste

Yet how many have been gifted such a life
How many have lifted themselves from the miasma
How many have been lifted by your lift
How many gifts so gifted by your smile

One more sip of Cherry Cola
One more line spoken into the microphone
One more sigh that says; yes, it is all over
One more time, for the missed call on the telephone

One right foot on the accelerator
One piece of mischief to tell her of later
I am my own, yes, I am my own propagator
I could tell you; that no, no I do not hate her

No way, for after all she was my first, new-self creator
And in between the doubt and the dust piles
Maybe the diamonds were the silent instigator
If I brush away the rust files, I might just ask to date her

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Gloss, And Glitter

If I had the time, which I haven't
I would start again
With a fountain pen
And the basic rules of grammar

I might pick up a stammer
To give me time to think
To think I could give up
The drink, but how could I

Would it matter
If on this second chance
I learnt to dance, and sing
Play guitar, that sort of thing

Such a beautiful idea
To see, and hear
Christopher read his poetry
Then go on to dance and sing

And maybe join in with conversation
On the platform at the station
Virtuoso like; stating his case
For a remedy, to his unsociable situation

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VCN 2

I had been on a long train journey, to the South-West of England. On the station platform I bumped into a young woman, who I used to know from my creative writing education in Buxton. She was bedraggled and bereft; half-dressed, penniless, and in debt. She wanted to borrow money, and asked if I could take her with me.

We were in a large rectangular room, newly refurbished, in a modern style. One of my sons was there, I'm not sure which one. The house was on Dartmoor, at Shaugh Prior, a village I boarded in for a short while, but that was a good many years ago.

I realised that I hadn't made a booking (I used to have the flat next door apparently). I was pulling up my trousers when the lady of the house came in, the young woman from Buxton was laid half-naked on the floor.

I asked if it was ok to stay for a few days, I had a meeting to attend, and staying over seemed to be the only option down here. That's fine she said, and asked me if I'd posted her booklet; she said she was relying on me, since the old service had ended.

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Read Between The Lines

Willows in the garden
Daffodils in the verges
So soon to change this life
So soon to discard the urges

There then at a distance
There then in your far off county
There then, just as if for instance
There then you were the bounty

I will write about someone quite different
Someone I thought I knew, or know
I will write about, a circumstance
Of love flourishing, as love begins to grow

For a while there I was nowhere
I was listening to The Eels, singing
Their sad song True Original; it was you
You I thought that they were singing of

And I was nowhere
No more than a listener
No more than a stooge
No more than a bereaved looker on

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