On the Royal Yacht Britannia
Champagne, tea, with milk-shake
In a vintage bottle
Every day is somebody’s birthday
However long you choose to wait
However soon you say congratulations
Strolling deck to deck
Looking in on a life, lived
So so very differently
Last used for a pre-wedding
Reception, last registered
In the Cayman Islands
A youth chews gum
Listening to the audio instructions
As the last of the tour disembarks
Once more on terra-firma
Once more on dry land
On our way to the gift shop
A bus to Princes Street
A short stroll to All-Bar-One
For our reunion with such a fine place
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
Friday, 8 March 2019
Thursday, 7 March 2019
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
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
Wednesday, 6 March 2019
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
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
Tuesday, 5 March 2019
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
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
![]() |
| Available at Amazon |
Monday, 4 March 2019
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
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
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)
