Cusps

Yes, there did ought to be a porpoise
Perhaps also a dolphin, just emerging
Yes, there did ought to be shafts of sunlight
On those waves across the Atlantic
Yes, there did ought to be a mood created
As if one’s own dusk had not already begun

Yes, there did ought to have been love
Not unrequited
Not unreachable
Not held off
At some vast colossal distance

But there did ought to be true love
Right here
Right now
As if it was our own love
Yes, our love; yes, really; yes, actually

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Back Here; Same Place

Circle
Circle of stone
Circle of fire and water
Circle of Japanese ink brush

Circle
Circle with compass
Circle with string and paint
Circle of exceedingly well-planted crops

I write of circles only to confuse you
To hide the real story, to hide the true story
Of how the circles encircled me
How I was captured in circles of my own making

Circle
Circle of light
Circle of night before day
Circle of more than lover's happenstance

Circle
Circle with family
Circle with friends and acquaintances
Circle with people I don’t even really know

Yes I write of circles to defuse you
To bypass what I wish to hide
O how the circles circled around me
How I was within, yet also I was outside

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Rutted Ground

A cart track in Yorkshire
A cart track in Devon
A cart track in Lincolnshire

Not that I had a cart
But a way of restful walking
On sunshine afternoons

No thoughts to the labour
No thoughts to the traveller
No thoughts to the horse and cart

Not that I had a lack of thoughts
For thoughts were all I knew
Thoughts of where I was, and where I wasn’t

Then, as the thoughts ran out
And the light began to fade
It was time to turn to parchment

To write what I wanted to write
To write what I needed to write
To write what I could or couldn’t say

A house became a home in Yorkshire
A house became a home in Devon
A house became a home in Lincolnshire

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Shop Time, Love Time

Oranges and lemons
And aubergines
And what flew from the tree that day

Departures and arrivals
And baggage to reclaim
And what drove along the free highway

Moors and meadows
And water in the stream
And what claimed the words to say

Peace and love
And happiness abounds above
As the solitary walker’s words go astray

Ache and rust
And rails which will collide
Across the divide of all that's made of clay

Temptation and musk
And oils on the skin, or husk
As the notes fall slowly in the spray

Apples and pears
And cabbage savoy fairs
And o what looks we picked up on the way

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Ponder This

There is always danger
Or perhaps there always has to be a hint of danger
There is always second-guessing
Or perhaps there always has to be an element of second-guessing

But what of that moment
When the thought arrives on its own
Yes, what of that moment
When the dialogue speaks for itself

It did happen, I am sure, I am certain
Yes, absolutely that did happen
Even if the recollection
Is neither true nor clear

Better though to mention it
Like the whisky with the water
Like the tonic with the gin
Better to unveil slowly

Page after page after page
Be the devil for the Christians
Be the Buddha for the monks
Let there always be danger
In the arcades of the sun

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