BBB Poem 9

Wounds have little choice but to be transitory
Yet it takes a good half, of a dull wet morning
For me even to reach into the emptiness of
The nothingness which only existed fleetingly

Although a door was opening; the half silence
And the half-tired mindless daydreaming
Led me to that place of feeling, feeling though
Not of rational self, not of this conscious self

As if ones mind (brain) had been opened
By a tin opener, for it to breathe in the many
Airs; of irresponsibility, hope, and anguish
With the canopy lifted, my thoughts could fly

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BBB Poem 8

I know this place
Nearby is where I spent my formative years
I spot the base of Emley Moor Television mast
The remainder is shrouded in cloud, and mist
I remember the old mast
The winter of it being brought to ground
Due to the unbearable weight of ice, and snow

Those days, on the cusp of puberty
With girls just becoming a fascination
A few years though
Before my first broken heart
That is, a heart broken, by a girl
Not by my parents, or by my so called friends
Or by my Penistone Grammar school teachers

I left this place
But, like a bad penny, returned several times
Mostly in search of solace, or shelter
After further experiences
Of break-ups, and heartbreaks
Or after split-ups; moving-on proclamations
I am here today as a result of one such

Here today to go to an art gallery
Twenty five or more miles away
Salts Mill; the home of one David Hockney
Another Yorkshireman, yet such a soul
Who travelled way further than I did
And who picked up, quite rightly
Many more plaudits along the way

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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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