After Internment

Today I move on
Today I move away
Where to next
Where to now

Slow it down
Take a walk
Look at the sky
Breathe in the air

Yet still I stay
In my room
No firm handshakes
No warm goodbyes

The first day
Of the ninth month
Of the nineteenth year
Of this century

The sixty-seventh year
Of first days
Of next days
Of last days

Happenstance in Heptonstall

Poems Started at Lumb Bank

Arvon 2018

Available from Amazon

AWOL Until

Beneath my window there is laughter, joyous conversation, but I am not among it; of course I could, as if on an Easter morning, lift the sash, poke out my head; but I don’t.

There is a leftover glass of wine, in the room next to the breakfast table, most probably from an evening gathering; I did not attend, but stayed in my room, above the interaction.

There are books in which to write, also books for the reading of; I have partaken of both, tasted the elixir if you will, but I won’t remember, once I have returned home, unless…

Sunlight falls on the variegated leaves, as chocolate fills my imagination; tonight I will be here, probably speaking out loud; however, tomorrow I will be making fresh tracks.

Happenstance in Heptonstall

Poems Started at Lumb Bank

Arvon 2018

Available from Amazon

Towards Quietness

The perspiration sits with me
A short hike through the woods
A nature trail, beside the Colden Water
After walking along
An immense man-made path
Presumably for the workers
To make their way to the mills

What I hear now
From the peace of Lumb Bank
Is a scrambler bike, its rider
Possibly risking life and limb
Riding through the trees, over
The rocks, just as Arthur Lampkin
I never did take such a risk

Hornets in the sweet-williams
Mesh of fennel in sunlight
Butterfly inspects my wrist
Soon it will be mid-September
When we will be in Ibiza
Climbing the stone steps
Up to the castle and the cathedral

But before that I have to tell you
That I know so much more now
Yet I also know so much less
Take that mountaineer poet
Who goes to places where I never will
Or that quiet gentleman
Whose prayer poems I cannot equal

Happenstance in Heptonstall

Poems Started at Lumb Bank

Arvon 2018

Available from Amazon

Work, And Plenty Of It

I walk this path
As you might have walked a similar path
With a lighted candle, or not
I note the huge size of the stone slabs
And how they have been worn by footfall
The pathway must have been essential
In providing a route for the workers

For the mill owners to have expended so
How much a fortune in prospect
But how many lives lost in the making
How many lives broken in the walking
Did they ever stop
To sit on this vast plate of rock
To listen to the river burbling

Did they ever look at the light in the trees
With a sense of wonder
Did they smell that countryside smell
The excrement of cows and sheep
Did they touch the bark, or the moss
Or, back then, had the moss not gathered
On Rolling Stones, or vice-versa

Happenstance in Heptonstall

Poems Started at Lumb Bank

Arvon 2018

Available from Amazon

Water, Davidoff’s Cool Water

The huge, flat, rocks of the riverbed
Are soiled, as if by the liqueurs of tar-macadam
Actually the rocks are more like tectonic plates
Though to be truthful I have not seen any of those

This place is towards the heads of the valley
A small man-made dam of brackish water
Perhaps a spot for children to play
If ever they could blooming well get here

It is on, or right beside
The Pennine Way, so maybe
It is a stop-off point; for serious walkers
With tents, campfires, real ale, and wild swimming

For me it is a place a good distance away
Away from what you might ask
Well, what would Robert Frost say
Or Ted Hughes, or Virginia Wolf

But I won’t on this occasion use their words
For they might not get it right
Because only I really know how I am feeling
Though, as yet, I don’t have the tools to tell you

Happenstance in Heptonstall

Poems Started at Lumb Bank

Arvon 2018

Available from Amazon