Cusp

With this new light
Which oddly I call darkness
I have the gift of a book to read

I read about a conversation
Which began in daylight
And carried on deep into the evening

Two men; one younger, one older
Talking about Jung, indeed deciding
To make a film of Jung’s enquiries

I imagine them steeped in talk
Each, in turn, moving the other one on
Enveloping themselves in this, the new light

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Unnamed

There is one here in spirit
There is one not here at all
There is one not here, but waiting back at home

It is on the stroke of six
Darkness is the current light
The bells, the bells they are a ringing

I have taken photographs
I have strolled through the grounds
I feel, yes, I do feel to be welcome to roam

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Tart

Is it the comfort food
Or the calm surroundings
Which make me feel welcome

Is it the newborn baby
With mother, father, and young grandmother
Which says to me; life does go on

In Daniel Cronin’s book Words of Wisdom
This week in November is made up of
Days of Sin, and Days of Solitude

It seems I have all four attributes of sin
And it is true I do wish to be the author
The author of my own happiness that is

As for solitude, I do believe
That I have witnessed its beauty, and its silence
But I was not in the Audience Chamber of God

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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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