BBB Poem 33

I bring my own sounds
To counteract the hammer, to overwhelm
The nails, the hedge trimmer, the rolling along
Of the waste collection bins

I bring Bubbling Spring
To enhance the jazz
Of suburban urban living
I ask focussed noise, to disperse random noise

And now the industrial scale
Garden vacuum machine is set to work
Picking up, or blowing away
All of the fallen foliage of the summer

Would that I could build
A super-strength sound insular summer house
Or an equally peaceful meditation chapel
O would that I could do so many things

For a moment there the breeze took hold
Ruffled the hair over my forehead
Cleared away a cloud; the light came through
Gave me my very own patch of peace

My daughter messaged; could she stay over
Bring my two grandchildren for the weekend
Before the bank holiday; if the weather is
Promising, maybe we could go to Cleethorpes!

Available at Amazon

BBB Poem 32

The love was too strong
It hid all the sufferances
The love went on too long
It followed the circumferences

Why would I write that
Why would I construct
Or record these utterances

Why would I want you to know
The chances that I'd taken
The hopes and the undulations

The love was too tough
It bid all the challenges
The love became too rough
It wallowed in the imbalances

Why would I write to you
Why would I deduct
Or inform the dalliances

Why would I share this
The images that were torn
As I stripped back the valances

The love was real
It undid all the differences
The love was to feel
To re-open the sufferances

Available at Amazon

BBB Poem 31

I go out into the garden
In the fresh morning air
But where has my zafu gone
I must have misplaced it

I feel the cooler breeze
Over my skin, under my linen shirt
I listen to the album Atomos
By Winged victory for the sullen

Are you searching for something
Which I do not give to you
Are you quietly saying to me
That we each have our own past lives

Are you leaning, as the plum tree leans
Towards the light, towards the sun
Towards the source of growth
Is it more growth which you crave

The concert hall in Los Angeles
Is not lost to me, although
The music that evening was not special
But I do have a CD to remind me

Of the visitation of angels, which was
A place, at that particular moment in time
Where I often lost myself, or where
I allowed my mind to wander in joy

My past is almost unapproachable now
I guess that is why I am still writing
That is why I sit out in the garden
To gather the splinters from a past life

Available at Amazon

BBB Poem 30

It is a tunnel
A telescope
A path across a vista

A route map for correspondence
And communication
Between lovers, and lovers of life

It is a train
An aeroplane
A ways, and a means

Of moving, from here, to there
And back again
For lovers, for lovers of life

It is a stream
A river
A never ending flow of cool water

From the source, to the sea
All around the cycle
As with lovers, as with lovers of life

Available at Amazon

BBB Poem 29

The marching band is present
So are the mowers of lawns
I could be in Mornington Crescent
Or where one sees the salmon spawns

Yet, from this quiet corner
I see the pile of garden waste
I am, as if the wayward mourner
Who left his past in clouds of haste

But I have the towering willow
And apple trees bearing fruit
My lovers head is on her pillow
And much the same I will follow suit

Not denying part, or all, of my creation
Not looking for ways in, nor ways out
It is my time alone, this nation
Where I ease away the seeds of doubt

Available at Amazon