BBB Poem 3

In that space, for those few moments
First watching
And then taking a photograph
Of the wren, stood contemplating
In the middle of the River Calder
In point of fact
Stood at the foot of a short waterfall
As viewed from a window
In the Hepworth Museum

So that short time, amplified many fold
Through these words, also by time backwards
To teenage years and just beyond
To bier-kellars, theatre clubs
Rugby league teams
And that first tax disc
On the day you passed your driving test
Going so so slowly back home
In the pea-soup of a fog

The queue behind you that day
Now dispersed
That is what you might imagine
As you mirror
Your own adventures over these fifty years
Half a century then
Of memories to call upon
As you frame, and focus on the heron
In the slip of water, on the River Calder

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BBB Poem 2

I sweat, out of some frustration
The drawings don't make any sense
Yet I feel that scalp point sensation
Other woods, it seems they are less dense

The pencil is not driven, leastways
Not across the sketching paper plane
Instead I am distracted, same as ever was
The forms, the lines, the oddly triangular frame

My curves are corrupted, repetition
Cannot be repeated, seated here
By the windswept window, definition
Of lines now less well defined

And she who reads the tea-leaves, she says
All is well that is well, yet, yes yet
Not everything can be explained
The rain, though transitory, is near on to blame

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BBB Poem 1

Air lifted
Onto the pitch of global warming
We are gifted endless summer days
In springtime, in autumn
And no doubt, also in mid-winter

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75

The book I have in mind to write is to do with recovery, recovery from the dark lights of life, and recovery from the dark lights, of a several times broken heart.

The book will deal much with therapy, with many therapies, with many witch doctors magic methodologies, with many placebos, with the many failed, and the few successful cures.

Longing will remain, it is one truth of life; longing may subside, but it doesn't disappear, that is my belief, one reinforced through experience.

Firstly I will lay down a few facts, in some sort of chronological order; I will then group these facts into some sort of well thought out sets, placed on co-ordinates, in that x,y,z continuum which is the three dimensions of time, space and heartache.

From this cosmos, with multiple orbits, I will explore some of the perceived wisdom in the literature; you may expect a few quotations, from Jung to Nietzsche, from Dickinson to Plath, and from all spheres in between.

Unlike the poetry, which precedes this work, I will aim to distance myself from the particular, that is except where a detailed explanation of the particular might bring a smile to mine, and your eyes.

And who is to read this book? Why lovers of course; those falling into love, those falling out of love, and those beautiful souls found wandering on the precipice; somewhere between somehow being in love, and somehow being out of love.

Be ready to nudge me if I ramble, I won't intend to, but sometimes the streams of the sub-conscious might just take over.

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74

Is it that I have become indecisive
When mostly the only decision which I choose
To make, is to write a few more words

On this next question I have truly stumbled
Should I retire, from the day job
To live the life of a writer

Let's be very clear then
I very much enjoy writing, to say immensely
Would not be stretching the point

Yet I have had nothing published
And neither have I courted publishers, or agents
Save for that background noise of self-publication

I have hardly ever performed my work
Other than with a few local writing groups
And for my own internet recordings

I do care for my poetry
Some of it has stood the test of time
But it has never really got off the ground

I could carry on as a part-time writer
I have done so for twelve years, or twenty-seven
What would another two mean; more of the same

Or I could jump, start some explorations
There would be risks, failures and successes
There would be change, I always wanted to change

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