Twenty Seven

So much of a Friday morning
So much of a mango ice drink
Yes, this is so so much of a sense of life
A time to do no more than watch
How easily one foot
Steps in front of the other
How easily one word fell
Before the very next one
Thoughts of light aeroplanes
Blue skies, calm seas, wild oceans
Thoughts of love on love
Of peace laid on calm
No longer troubled
By the River Ouse
Or its tributaries
No longer the man of doubt
Sat here, with the certainty
That today it is Friday
A day that will only get better
Yes, better; then way better still

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Twenty Six

Might I write of you
As I write
Of spring entering summer

Might I write of you
As I observe
The words of Pablo Neruda

Might I think of that place
Beside the apple blossom
Where we might lay together

Might I think of that hut
Which, with a lover’s touch
Could easily be constructed

For no practical reason
But to sit in, to write in
To make love daily

Might the timbers
Give us their sap
Might we thus grow

For no other reason
Than to be nearer to each other
Nearer to love

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Twenty Five

Outside
Sunlight, slight breeze
Green leaves
Evergreen green leaves

Inside
A carpet to lay on
A wall, a door, a window
A book of silence

In transit
My body mass index
My reflexologist massaged feet
My, still-aching, frozen shoulder

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Twenty Four

The blandness
Of the strawberries, of the blueberries
Of the Icelandic style yoghurt
Only the toothache
Brought about any excitement

Yet before this
Fifteen minutes in the hot tub
Then to perspire profusely
Having been taken
Into a warm place

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Twenty Three

Day 1
The first fish of the day
On the line
In the net
Hook carefully removed
Photograph taken
(Of fish held by eldest son)
Fish returned to the water
Ripples on the lake

Day 2
The first fish of the day
On the line
In the net
Hook carefully removed
Photograph taken
(Of fish held by eldest son)
Fish returned to the water
Ripples on the lake

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