BBB Poem 7

The overnight rains were wilful
Pouring, and pouring, and pouring
But now, in the clear light of morning
The grasses are washed, the trees are washed
The garden is infected with new life
A blue sky is in the offing
And I am making tracks
To be with family, to be with art

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BBB Poem 6

A slow, soul fulfilling Saturday morning
Listening to Patsy Cline and Willie Nelson
Looking at photographs
From downalong, and backalong
Daydreaming of lullabies, and sacred moments
Waiting for the rush
Which when it comes, will still be a surprise
Such that I find references, from my past

On the windowsill
Photographs, paintings, and portraits
On the wall
A Rothko, reclaimed from a previous life
On the bookshelves
All of the poems, which cover up all of the loss

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BBB Poem 5

I take my mind with me, everywhere I go
My mind is my favourite friend
A friend I feel that I've grown to know

Years and years of memories
Are kept there
Kept in several stores

Reminders of those, at first
Closed, but now
Fully opened doors

It is the randomness
Which most appeals to me
Thoughts which arise

For all manner of reasons
Yes, whether it be on the hillside
Or down there, beside the sea

It is the absolute
Uncertainty, which pervades
Through all of the seasons

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BBB Poem 4

And so, as you feel that warmth
Of peace, and love, and understanding
You feel that warmth, as you read your book
Whilst listening to your music

And so, as you feel that inner glow
Of care, of sharing, of being there
You feel that glow, in your imagination
Letting your thoughts wander as they wish

And so, as you remember to plan
For the future, with leanings from the past
As you feel for memories; the most recent
Also for the ones, from way further back in time

I know that the patience to draw is not here yet
Nor the desire, to take out the water colour set
Yet in the frame; I am not anywhere near ready
To trade a condemned artist’s contemplations

I know that the swirls, and the shapes
The lines, and the escapes all add up
Yes, to draw the cup would be a pleasure
And o, to learn the potter’s skill, what treasure

Yes, I know that I have built many barriers
And that breaking through is equally as tricky
As would be the heartbreak of letting go
And so I mow the lawn, trim trees, as best I can

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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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