A long view
From a long time ago
So long that you would not believe
The road would still be blocked by snow
A longer view
From a longer time ago
So long that you would not believe
The workmen’s bus made it through the snow
Most days I would try to write a poem; it is a practice, as I suppose is meditation, or smiling, or watching the world go by
Sunday, 22 July 2018
Saturday, 21 July 2018
Ascendant
I was there
In the moment
Transported
By sublime music
I was beyond myself
Transcendent, thanks
To sheep’s intestines
And real horse hair
In the moment
Transported
By sublime music
I was beyond myself
Transcendent, thanks
To sheep’s intestines
And real horse hair
Friday, 20 July 2018
Mr Reliable
Right after noon
I brew the coffee
Plug the computer
Back into the power supply
Turn on the stereo
Select the Flower Duet playlist
The morning's work is done in my world
And by that
I mean poems drafted
Poems typed up
Poems edited
Poems posted on the blog
That, and a short reading
From How Great Poems Transform The World
And I watched a video
Posted on Facebook
By my friend Graham Juggins
The video is of good guy Roger Waters
Making an impassioned plea
For young musicians and composers
To be given a fair chance in this world
I brew the coffee
Plug the computer
Back into the power supply
Turn on the stereo
Select the Flower Duet playlist
The morning's work is done in my world
And by that
I mean poems drafted
Poems typed up
Poems edited
Poems posted on the blog
That, and a short reading
From How Great Poems Transform The World
And I watched a video
Posted on Facebook
By my friend Graham Juggins
The video is of good guy Roger Waters
Making an impassioned plea
For young musicians and composers
To be given a fair chance in this world
Thursday, 19 July 2018
Round, Round Again
The table
And its shadow
Could be an introduction
To a work by MC Escher
The vase
And the photograph
Each have their own reflection
Thanks to Pilkington glass
I, on the other hand
Read of ‘Otherness’
Where I am led
By Maria Popova’s Brain Pickings
All the while
The black and orange twigs
In the cream and black, enamel jug
Simply, silently, serenely watch on
And its shadow
Could be an introduction
To a work by MC Escher
The vase
And the photograph
Each have their own reflection
Thanks to Pilkington glass
I, on the other hand
Read of ‘Otherness’
Where I am led
By Maria Popova’s Brain Pickings
All the while
The black and orange twigs
In the cream and black, enamel jug
Simply, silently, serenely watch on
Wednesday, 18 July 2018
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
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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