Take A Seat Sir, I Will Bring It Over

The woman waits
Outside the window
She checks her watch
With some purpose
She does this again
A couple times more

Her friend arrives
She runs towards him
They are all smiles
They hug, and then
Turn to enter into
Into the coffee shop

A middle-aged couple
In matching black
Arms already linked
Come along the pavement
A few moments later
He opens the door

The lady opposite
Reads her book quietly
The family, to the side
Talk of all manner of things
But mostly they fall back
To motor cars and F1 racing

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Raison d'être

What would the dates matter
Or the photographs
Or the fading sounds
Of the trains leaving the Somerset levels

One year, or the next
What difference to the indifferent
One colour, or another
What irregularities do we harbour

If the weakness is a weakness
Then let it be so
Don’t you go trying to find out
What isn’t there to be found out

Look at the print
Of the Rothko untitled painting
In the right light, in the right place
At the right time

So be there for the laughter
And carry on with Zhivago
To set aside is to set aside
There is no more to it than that

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Both Sides Then

It is hard to be on the cusp
Of inspiration
When one is on the cusp
Of just beyond the cusp of pain

It is hard to feel for different times
Or different lives
When one is held in the difficulty
Of ever-present pain

And so the same for love and joy
Which may be glimpsed
But cannot be held square on
When pain is an obstruction

Yet it does no harm to test the water
To look back on records, photographs
Notes of the good times, and the bad times
To let pain know that it also must share you

And then still to have the wherewithal
To sort, and move, and catalogue
Such that naught will be lost
And, when the day free of pain arrives

One will be able to begin the rebuilding
To trawl and rediscover opportunities
Which in the moment meant so much
And which in the future will mean more

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Obscured By Whether Or Not

Raindrops on the washing line
Mist hung over the pampas grass
A morning of copying old files
A morning of reading past histories

We are we where we are because
Because we said the things we said
Or we did not say what we did not say

And altogether it appears a bit untidy
Things not being where they ought to be
And also things just where they should be

You were angry for a time, as loss
Put you off your track, derailed you
But now you are back, you are, back

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Gradual Recovery

There is no more sleep left in me
I am as it were purged of the tiredness
I cannot though yet jump for joy
Nor wave the semaphore to welcome you
But I can feel that life is returning

I must be careful, take care
Do not rush, do not hurry
Which of course is not my natural style
Dive in headlong I would mostly say
Rather than to step steady on the way

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