Sat In The Sensory Garden (Without You)

Early afternoon
On the second day
Of this short personal retreat
Although I have retreated
From anything but my senses

Right now I hear the gulls
And the loud raucous laughter
Of the studious young Americans
Though to be honest
I am unsure what drew them here

Only one or two
Made it into the Abbey
Only one really, on a regular basis
But I did see a vacant-looking girl
Walking by the river

And in the cafeteria
I overheard two young men
Discussing the purpose of their lives
I tell you, they had a great deal
Of street-wise verbose

Even if occasionally
They stumbled
As I also, so so often stumble
To find the right words
To make the sense of which I am after

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Simpler Chapel (Still Without High Church)

That one smile
On that one face
That one fine place
To cause such mischief

That one time
On that one clock
That one sharp shock
To cause such mischief

That one sound
On that one wall
That one late last call
To cause such mischief

That one scent
From that one flower
That one strong power
To cause such mischief

That one breath
On that one nape nerve
That one distinct verve
To cause such mischief

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Complex Chapel (Without High Church)

That one smile
On that one face
That one irreducible place
To cause such mischief

That one time
On that one clock
That one irredeemable shock
To cause such mischief

That one sound
On that one wall
That one irretrievable last call
To cause such mischief

That one scent
From that one flower
That one irresponsible power
To cause such mischief

That one breath
On that one nape nerve
That irreplaceable verve
To cause such mischief

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Pictured (Without Being Framed)

I take photographs
To remind me of the light
To remind me of the season
To remind me of the vulnerability
To say to me
How good it would be if you were here
Sat, on this bench
As we sat on that bench, in Bilbao

Although today
At least here anyway
There are no flâneurs
There are no locals
Walking out to share a life
Dressed in their Sunday best
Deep in communal conversation
As though there really was no tomorrow

Of course, unlike some
We still have all, or at least most
Yes, for certain, some of our tomorrows
Which may well require a form of closer scrutiny
Perhaps a lazy, laconic, poetry video
Of the leaves, slowly drifting to the ground
At Buckfastleigh, or Buckfast Abbey
In the autumn of two-thousand-and-sixteen

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Breakout (Without Breakthrough)

Everywhere there is beauty
Then, from time to time
One steps into a quiet place
Where the light shines less brightly

Of course, by now
I choose not to, that is not on purpose
To visit the darkness too too often
But you know, love, love will have its way

Just as the moss grows
On the tarmacadam path
And the discarded leaves rot
Beside the forsaken branches

Could I just say, that there is room for two
On this fine, and sturdy bench
Constructed from concrete and oak
Fixed to the floor with galvanised brackets

You may sit here, to listen to the river
Also to absorb the aircraft noise from overhead
Which may once well have transported you
Back to the place of your birth

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