Another Singer’s Song

Gifted are the gifted who burn with good news
Spoken so politely by the father of clues
Life then the provider thus ending all of the dues
He who wanders is the one wearing new shoes
While the one who remains is left singing the blues
Yes, the one who sits still is left feeling the bruise

It’s three in the morning
And all the best lines have been taken
It is another sure warning
Of the past times forsaken

Gifted are the gifted who burn with good news
Spoken so politely by the father of the clues

It’s words and its pictures
And lovers too far apart
It is thoughts of the scriptures
Not to know where to start

Life then the provider thus ending all of the dues
He who wanders is the one wearing new shoes

It’s buttons undone
And breasts softly rimmed
It is nervousness shunned
For skin cupped by skin

While the one who remains is left singing the blues
Yes, the one who sits still is left feeling the bruise

It’s all clothes off
With thighs there to stroke
It is the sensitive wroth
Of going for broke

Gifted are the gifted who burn with good news
Spoken so politely by the father of the clues
Life then the provider thus ending all of the dues
He who wanders is the one wearing new shoes
While the one who remains is left singing the blues
Yes, the one who sits still is left feeling the bruise

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Stained Glass

I changed my mind on delaying the cathedral visit
I remembered that I had my raincoat in the car
So I ventured out, five miles in busy traffic
I parked in the tightest of multi-storey car parks
It was raining, but the builders carried on building
The Green will be beautiful, I have no doubt
But it most certainly isn’t on this day, no, today
The Green is not one of God’s beautiful places

The tea looks weak in Patisserie Valerie
I have asked if the egg custard could be warmed
I know its not de-rigeur to microwave pastry
But I tell you, these are God’s little beauties
I know they can be a little bit messy
But, with the industrial strength knives and forks
They are soon brought firmly under control
And so so soon nothing is left on the plate at all

I can’t honestly recommend the high street
Not on a wet Tuesday afternoon in November
The red lights of the banks (a euphemism?)
Are the brightest colours to be seen
Shop doorways are filled with huddled
Would be customers, that is if anyone knew how
To recover the economy sufficiently
To turn these lost souls into dignified patrons

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Setting Out

Apprehensive, fearful
Unsettling emotions running wild
Call it what you will
Seems though it always comes upon me
Already today
I have printed the wrong sized paper
I have forgotten to attach
The attachment to the email

I don’t have the address, or the postcode
For where it is that I am going
I nearly ran into the gatepost
As I was reversing out of the drive
I did run into the kerb at the petrol station
And scuffed my alloy wheels
Now, I am here, in this utilitarian hotel bedroom
A long way from home

A long way from my destination
It is raining, heavily
So the cathedral visit (which I hope will calm me)
Will have to wait until tomorrow morning
Apprehensive, fearful
Unsettling emotions running wild
Call it what you will
Seems though it always comes upon me

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Last Look (Without Words)

Silhouette in the shadows
All those stymied
Doubt filled bones of distrust

Home for the dust motes in the cobwebs
Easily led to those disaffected
And unattested thoughts on the bedstead

The shadow, and the silhouette
Are mere motor-memories now
It is that time of clearer light

Becoming necessary to write the final chapter
The attempt for capture is over
The exodus finally delivered the sun

The rest of us must go on
Transcending the transference
Into the silence

The silent silhouette
The silent shadow
The silence which echoes

To the loss of those disaffected
To the cost of those unattested
And to that imposter, of the very one neglected

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Taken (Without Receipt)

My usual pew
On the back row
Has been reserved

Also
The bench, ahead of that one
Is similarly stamped

I determine to move
Nearer to the front
But decide against recording the proceedings

My initial quest then
For a suggest and response audio recording
Of the Buckfast Benedictine Monks is scuppered

Instead I am here for Compline
The final-minute bells are sounding
This is my new purpose

To feel the stillness
To immerse myself in the quiet
Before the misunderstood rituals begin

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