Up And About

A sort of mental callisthenics
Sterling University remembered
To have met all of those people
Yet not now know a single one

Strong winter light falls
Onto building surfaces, and furniture
Strong winter thoughts move in
Around the early morning dumb-struck cells

Assembling into a sort of set, as you might find
In a theorem, or hypothesis
Lights which may eventually merge
Yet often seem to go their own way

A cold wind, with cold energy
Rustles the bushes and the trees
The evergreens, and the annuals
Take time to sidestep, to survive

A sort of defence mechanism
As carried by most everyone
That life should go on, and on
For how else to avoid grief

Disparate thoughts, one by one
Here only for the learning of
Other universities, with games
With which to start the day so well

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Conscious of Consciousness

I am in that shallow place
Thinking about I
I am in that hollow space
Thinking about why

About why Colin Tinker and me
Played football on our own
About why he was so good you see
And my parents were not at home

I am on that dodgy race
To feeling sorry for myself
Recalling how the hunt we chased
Killing, with our abundant wealth

With a viewpoint from that sycamore tree
Swaying calmly in the wind
Movements of ease to set one free
With no thoughts of love to rescind

I am seeking out that grace
Which morning light does bring
Thinking, that to turn about face
Will in no way cause the bells to ring

Neither, neither, neither the tea
Which I happily, and slowly, sip
Thinking not of what I wish to be
But how indeed I may learn to skip

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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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