Misguided Guidance

You said to ring you later
But it was already late
And we hadn't yet booked an hotel
For our trip from here to there

You said to use the guide
On the floor in the next room
Actually there were several
Yellow Pages type directories

Scattered all over the floor
Yes, you said, ring me later
For then we can talk for longer
Without fear of interruption

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Harvest All Of What You Sow

The fields are filled to overflowing
The breezes, the breezes are certain but gently blowing
The farmers, the farmers are the ones all knowing
Soon their harvests, soon their harvests will be showing

You showed me fields of potatoes
You showed me tunnels of carnations
You showed me glasshouses of tomatoes
All picked by the labourers of less wealthy nations

You showed me the watercolour paintbrushes
You showed me the oil-based sketching pastels
You introduced me to the joy
Of producing the rushes of the wayward rascal

You said I should have a large loft
So as to paint on a bigger canvas
Yet you never mentioned the croft
Where I might write of a different class

I wrote that you are more, I wrote that you are many
I wrote that you are sat at the glass topped table
In this way I was, and I still am quite rudimentary
I take care of myself, preserve all of which I'm capable

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Don't Talk About Those You Don't Know About

This is seriously unusual
To talk to you of a Sunday lunchtime
When the sun is high and when the sky is blue
When I'm on my way to watch Sheffield Wednesday

I'm staying at my brother Leslie's tonight
Then tomorrow it's up to County Durham for the day job
Though I may well call in
At Yorkshire Sculpture Park along the way

And you, yes, already you see, you are in on the itinerary
How couldn't you be
How could I drive all this way without you
Without talking to you, for you, about you

It is a different light at lunchtime
Different to that early morning start of the days light
My eyes, my mind, they now see with a clearer sight
In the words of Jason Isbell: Those were different days

The coincidence of all coincidences
I spoke on the telephone with a lady from Jersey
Indeed a lady called Wendy if you could believe me
I don't know if you know her

She has some connection, via her family to the bailiff
But I don't know the details; maybe you do know her
Maybe you don’t, it's too far back for me to remember
To try to recall all of the everything that you ever told me

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Converse Conversely

You
And the sensitive theme
Of an imaginary teardrop
Slowly, oh, so so slowly
Rolling down my cheek

You
And the evocative dream
Of talking, and talking
For such a long long time
About talking later

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Balcony Cafe

Fresh fruit Pavlova
Large black Americano
Photographs
Of the sculptures

And the Red Telephone Box
Indulgence
Laid upon indulgence
Laid upon the greatest indulgence of all

Wire ropes
Cored through metal posts
Rust forms
At the exact point of interaction

Meditation
On the Yorkshire Stone steps
Beneath Not Vital's
Let 100 flowers bloom

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