Now, In Now Time

The book of dreams laid on the bed
In front of the sea-view window
The bed had a plain, pale blue cover
The outlook was of a calm, pale blue sea

It could have been by Edward Hopper
But it was by Jim Holland
It could have been by Vilhelm Hammershoi
But it was by Jim Holland

I might have seen it on another day
But I saw it on a Sunday morning
I might have laid there some other time
But I lay there, on a Sunday morning

Afterwards, I took a flight back to England
I left Rod McKuen’s poems behind with you
Alone; they were of love, lost love, and loss
But belonged to an altogether future time

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Place Of Solitary Occupation

Ninety minutes of playtime
Thankful
That no writers turned up
No one here
To distract me
Other than myself

And o boy what a distraction
Thousands of memories
Zillions of thoughts
A few spontaneous movements
Before I brought out the camera
And the iPhone video recorder

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In Place Of Occupation

One more cup of coffee
One more to bring intensity to thought
To strengthen, to enrich, to magnify
To beautify, to endorse, to probe

One more shout out to the future
One more to bring indemnity to the scope
To elongate, to extrapolate, to mimic
To lose the cynic, to endorse, to probe

I photograph the stillness of the room
I record the calmness of the room

One more moment of now thus captured
One more time of being here in the present
To witness, to experience, to elucidate
To realise, to endorse, to probe

One more cup of coffee
One more final piece of action
To highlight, to dim, to radiate
To be within, to endorse, to probe

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Occupational Health

If I was a stamp collector
I would find one for this morning
All blue skies and frosted grass
All peace and tranquillity
All mindful time for the writing

If I was a sculptor
I would take out the plaster of Paris
All brilliant white and tactile
All solid mass and inner soul
All mindful time, for chiselling and filing

A stamp collector, a sculptor?
No, I am not any of these
Though of course I dabbled
What with friends at play, and on schooldays
Isn’t it just what we did

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The Choice

Books change peoples destinies
What did I see
What did I notice
What did I feel
What did I say or do
What didn’t I say or do

Those five small prints by Joe Tilson
What did he see
What did he notice
What did he feel
What did he say or do
What didn’t he say or do

Those ten small shelves of books
Might I choose one at random
That you might retire to a quiet place
There to read it
How does Hesse’s Siddhartha sound
Yes, let’s go with that; or no, maybe not

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