If we took off for the summer
If we took off for a song
If we sort of did a runner
Would you my love, would you come along
If we found the half-light
On the West Atlantic trail
Would you be with me in the morning
As the winds of time set sail
Right now I see the grasses
At the dawning of the night
As the clouds move dusk thus passes
And the lens catches the last of the light
Through the small picture window
The pace of life is steadfastly honed
Each new scene is a movement
Colours so so freely loaned
If we took off for the summer
Would you happily come along
If we sort of did that runner
Would you shout out for a song
Sunday, 3 June 2018
Saturday, 2 June 2018
Mark, Me, And Double Trouble
Sunlight sidesteps the dune grasses
To find a pathway to the house
Sandstorms fascinate the working classes
Whilst in the Highlands they shoot grouse
But down here in Cornwall
With the Atlantic for a friend
It is the blue sky and the stone wall
Which populate the pictures we send
Of places that tend to the peaceful
As well as might their muse
In her hope to shed, or to end the tearful
With the use of which and whatever ruse
Wave sounds tear apart the eardrums
Television intrudes on the peace
Now broken, the string for the opening strum
With which we set out, to find Summerleaze
To find a pathway to the house
Sandstorms fascinate the working classes
Whilst in the Highlands they shoot grouse
But down here in Cornwall
With the Atlantic for a friend
It is the blue sky and the stone wall
Which populate the pictures we send
Of places that tend to the peaceful
As well as might their muse
In her hope to shed, or to end the tearful
With the use of which and whatever ruse
Wave sounds tear apart the eardrums
Television intrudes on the peace
Now broken, the string for the opening strum
With which we set out, to find Summerleaze
Friday, 1 June 2018
Shaping Up
To do things right
Isn’t my natural way
To do things well
Isn’t where my concentrations lay
Rather to hop-along
Just about to make do
To take short cuts
Not ever to follow through
Yet still equal to most
I think you’ll find
We all have weakness
However feint the signs
In such a strong line
One’s bound to bow
A little
As one wonders how
The good and the great
Built their lives
Set apart
Such that goodness thrives
As if of the beating heart
One could truly desire
As if in the torrent
Lies the prospect of fire
Isn’t my natural way
To do things well
Isn’t where my concentrations lay
Rather to hop-along
Just about to make do
To take short cuts
Not ever to follow through
Yet still equal to most
I think you’ll find
We all have weakness
However feint the signs
In such a strong line
One’s bound to bow
A little
As one wonders how
The good and the great
Built their lives
Set apart
Such that goodness thrives
As if of the beating heart
One could truly desire
As if in the torrent
Lies the prospect of fire
Thursday, 31 May 2018
The Peace Of Torment
A wild wild wind
And a blue blue sky
A pair of denim jeans
On the washing line to dry
Birds that soar
On thermals in June
And birds in February
Which seem to have more room
A surf that roars
As if to cause wonder for all
Coir matting at my feet
With bets open to call
That I might ever
Make anything much
Yet to think of Kavanagh’s comma
Before the word such
And how some choose to use it
While others skip gladly on by
And which is the real way anyway
And does it really at all matter why
And a blue blue sky
A pair of denim jeans
On the washing line to dry
Birds that soar
On thermals in June
And birds in February
Which seem to have more room
A surf that roars
As if to cause wonder for all
Coir matting at my feet
With bets open to call
That I might ever
Make anything much
Yet to think of Kavanagh’s comma
Before the word such
And how some choose to use it
While others skip gladly on by
And which is the real way anyway
And does it really at all matter why
Wednesday, 30 May 2018
Mathematically Speaking
Would it do;
To count the waves
Or measure
The snowflakes
Would it help;
To stand barefoot in the surf
As the crystals settle
Then melt, on my brow
What might I hold onto
Through physically feeling
What might I gain
By experiencing real experiences
To walk on the pebbles
To stand on the sand
Me, a mid-sixties rebel
From a northern land
To count the waves
Or measure
The snowflakes
Would it help;
To stand barefoot in the surf
As the crystals settle
Then melt, on my brow
What might I hold onto
Through physically feeling
What might I gain
By experiencing real experiences
To walk on the pebbles
To stand on the sand
Me, a mid-sixties rebel
From a northern land
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