BBB Poem 58

That one man
With top hat and stick
What does he think of
As he walks before the hearse
Up the hill to the graveside
If he, as they
Could think of pipes and bands
Joy, on this sunshine day of celebration
And now
As the coffin is lifted from the hearse
To be borne on six men's shoulders
Before being carried down the hill
Towards the graveside patrons
Before being lowered
Down into the grave
The recordings of this
His last scene
Are absent
No photographs, no video
No sounds recorded for future playback
Only solemn memories
Of grey skies
And solemn occasions
Thank heavens for the flowers
And the gaily coloured youths

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BBB Poem 57

The concrete and the clay
Beneath my feet begin to crumble
As I stumbled upon a few home truths

The blank page is a blank day
What better way to start anew
When the view is solely of your own making

Step out into the flat ounce of fresh inspiration
With a smile, with a way deeper breath
Recognise that death is only for the dying

Fix your ills, shape your mind, and body
Take time to be anybody, in this world
Where your soul may swirl, dip as the swallow

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BBB Poem 56

The real day zero

There is nothing that I haven't written
Nothing that I have left unsaid
In this place of the last lines
Where the departure words are read

Long coats, smart blazers, and medals
Car parks, and overflow car parks
Roads laid out in the geometric style
For the cortège and the heralds

Say goodbye, and drive away, or fly
Off to the new life; beyond, yes beyond
The flags, and the platoons, the leader
Of the band in his striped tie

A military man, an Air Force man
All grey, and crimson, and royal blue
Laughter, and bonhomie, and o what's new
This is the real day zero, and for today we stand

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BBB Poem 55

Mushroom, and tarragon soup
Christopher what's come over you
Is it the Suffolk sea air
That is getting near to your inner truth

On the pier at Southwold
Above the waving waves
That travel from the Nuclear power station
To way beyond the newly built sea defences

All pretence of summer is indefensible
Under the grey-black, black-grey skies
All thoughts of English holidays reprehensible
For teenagers who share their lover’s cries

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BBB Poem 54

Beside the seaside
Throwing pebbles off the beach
A perfect sea
Or at least so I am told
By an oldish lady
Throwing pebbles at a tin can

The quiet then snapped
By the seventh wave landing
With a reasonably ubiquitous crash

Beside the seaside
Squashing pebbles into our bottoms
A vast sea
Or at least I do believe so
With a one hundred and sixty
Degree horizon

The delineation marked
By the last green line of darkness
And the first sky blue of sky

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