BBB Poem 46

I had no intention of jumping into the lake
Anyway it was winter
And I had just left the warmth of your bed
Ok, I had left it for the last time
So I was a little despondent
But me, jump in the lake, no, never

Of course I was sore
That you had asked me to leave
Yet, for the very first time
I saw the frost, in the hollow
On the fifth green of the golf course
But me, too sore, no, never

What is the point of continuing
If you have already made the point
But I will continue
I will reinforce the hurt, and the heartache
Of leaving you, in your warm bed
To think, what is the point of continuing

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BBB Poem 45

The dew is on the grass
Yes I know, I am missing two syllables
But I am singing their song already

The sand is on the beach
Yes I know, that line is not even in there
However, the past is all I have to teach me

For don't you see, no now don't you
The light, so early
The light so surely transports you

For with a tune in the head
And a pot of tea in the hand
God damned youth I wished to kiss you again

Restrained, minimally, as I am
By being the only existentialist
In the room at the moment

If only the Everly Brothers
Had been around
Their sound might well have saved me

Bade me not to walk barefoot in the grass
Nor to pass up the chance
To dance the night away, dance the night away

Yet, all in all, the call has to be made
That it's been a good year for the roses
Highlighted by walking out in the morning dew

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BBB Poem 44

First I felt the lack of light
As I stood at the stove cooking dinner
All the while listening to Craig Finn
Sing from his album
We all want the same things

Last night he saw something
Which he didn't see coming
But I can tell you, I knew that this night
The rains were on their way, and the deluge
The downpour did not in any way disappoint

The double glazed French doors
They took the brunt of it
Yet the advertisers feather would still float
The designers, the manufacturers, the installers
Should be proud; the weather was kept at bay

The torrential rain continues, sounds arise
From all sides of the house
And from the rooftops, where
The chimney pots are also getting battered
Yet, from my Harris Tweed vantage point

I can see a patch of silver-blue sky
Away out in the distance
I can see through the shear vertical raindrops
Yes, the Union flag hangs limp, lost on this day
But the blossom tree says; I can handle this

Though that is before I see
The first streaks of lightning
Closely followed, by the thunder’s rumble
The silver-blue sky smiles, as if about to say
Come to me now why don't you, I am waiting

I think of the passions
And the longings
I think to the desires
And those many other destructions
Long now gone

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BBB Poem 43

I feel altogether elemental
No, I know it's not the right word
But I have to claim something
Claim the erectness
Claim the fluidity of the moment
In stocking feet, gliding faultlessly
Over the wooden hallway floor
I am here, I am now, I am mindful
That to feel so good is a wonder
Which I ought to breathe in
Which I ought to breathe out
Time, and time, and time again
Of course there are rubbish bins to empty
Dishwashers to unload
New CD’s to be loaded onto the computer
But hey ho
Already today I have watched Lachlan Goudie’s
Awesome Beauty, The Art of Industrial Britain
Which both confirmed my love of nostalgia
As well as my belief in the future of youth
The future of humanity
Who have lived in, and still do live in
A life worth living

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BBB Poem 42

Right now I am sat
In a chair, in a room
With nothing pressing to be done

What would it feel like
To sit in another chair, in another room
With nothing pressing to be done

I think of Buckfast Monastery
Sat in a bedside chair, in a visitors room
With nothing pressing to be done

Rapidly then I think
Of all of those chairs, in all of those rooms
With nothing pressing to be done

I wonder what it means, or feels like
To sit on a chair, in a room
With nothing pressing to be done

The pleasure of the sunlight streaming
As I sat, on a chair, in a room
With nothing pressing to be done

The restlessness, caused by the grey clouds
As I sat, on that same chair, in that same room
With nothing pressing to be done

Allowing the dullness of weather to affect me
As I sat, on a chair, in a room
With nothing pressing to be done

To see the red leaves, brightened by the rain
As I sit, on that chair, in that room
With nothing pressing to be done

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