BBB Poem 69

The walls are solid
The windows are deeply inset
I am up at four in the morning
Basking in the house apparatus light

Outside, the old stable walls
Are not so strong
And the Virginia Creeper
Why, as it must, it is creeping

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BBB Poem 68

So this is where we’re at
We’ve done the this and that
Meddled with the tit for tat
Behaved like the drowning rat

So this is how we are
We pushed ourselves too far
We stopped looking for the star
And drove West in the motor car

Would that October
Could be any other time
Would that to stay sober
Could twist me down the line

Would that February
Was also less weight
Would that to be merry
Could open the gate

But this is where we’re at
We missed out on getting back
Settled for defence, or attack
Behaviour of the downright prat

But this is how we are
We raised too high the bar
Stopped smelling molten tar
Drove East in the motor car

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BBB Poem 67

A market town in Lincolnshire
A cash machine with parking spaces
Mon, Tues, Thurs, 30 Mins No return in 30 Mins
The lady, in the estate car
Straddles two bays, such is her rush
Then, after visiting the bank
She moves her car forwards a couple of feet
A small girl, possibly the driver's daughter
Wears a sky-blue ribbon in her hair
They walk off, across the square
I wonder if I shouldn’t time them
With a sort of sense of civic duty

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BBB Poem 66

It does not take a lot
To remind me of my stealthy departure
Leaving you for the last time
I drove for fifteen minutes
Through the early morning frosted sunlight
To park up, beside the black water pool
High on Dartmoor’s random terrain

That thought in turn takes me back
To that very same, isolated moorland road
On a snow filled night around Christmas
A reckless decision
To make such a dangerous journey
Where all ahead was a works party, without you

I ask for a replacement cup of coffee
The original was neither black, nor strong
In truth the second cup was little better
A connoisseur may tell you
That the coffee was burnt
I trail off, with those unsure, indecisive words
I hope you might see
This poem is no longer for you, or about you

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BBB Poem 65

Love, at its worst
In your tear stained, tear filled eyes
In your wavering, quivering small voice
In your entire abandonment of hope

Love, which had tore into you
Without disguise, or mask
Without certainty, or promise
Without regard for pain

And now here you are
With your love being unrequited
With barriers drawn, yet
With doors left ever so slight ajar

Daring you to repeat yourself
Encouraging you to repeat the performance
In this way he shows his weakness
In this way he shows his love, at its worst

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