This shelter, this shelter is evolving

This shelter, this shelter is evolving
Pebbles and cobbles are being washed
Then laid to rest
The refill of water is underway
For now it is for leaves and debris
But in the fullness of time
Well
Well, who knows
What the fullness of time brings

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This is not yet a shelter

This is not yet a shelter

Even though

There are no doors or windows

The trap is still set

Waiting, as forever to be sprung

To dissipate this ground’s energy

To another place

And so it is the stillness which begs me

Which asks me

To find a peaceful aesthetic

That can only come about

Through the forces of manual labour

To move from the thoughts to the action

Then onto the eventual equilibrium

Only then will it be a shelter

With one eye closed to the light

With one ear turned away from the birdsong

The bird is on the branch

The sky is blue above

The apple tree begins to blossom

Why then not be more becoming

See that the lump hammer

And the miniature groins

All have a part to play

Yes, one must be fearful

Of the resurrection

Especially at this Easter Time

Although this shelter is not that shelter

Nor could it ever be

So press on with the construction

Enjoying the sublimity of the mind

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This is my unfinished shelter

This is my unfinished shelter
A place distracted by a wheelbarrow
By a lump hammer, by a stonemason’s chisel
By a pair of well-worn workmen’s gloves

I see red tulips
I hear birds chirping
The sun is strong this Thursday
And tomorrow is Good Friday

There is a breeze
Wasn’t there always on Fuerteventura
There is an abundance of greenery
Not at all like those black deserts

I fixed those hooks on the wall
Several summers ago
They were for candles
In glass-sided lanterns

The red bricks have stayed with me
Reclamation from another shelter
That dividing wall in the old stables
Which just had to go

Demolition being more my approach
That is back in the day
Before restoration and reuse was in vogue
Knock it down, start again, that was my mantra

However, since becoming
An honorary member
Of the temperance society
And hanging my bag with the meditators

My shelters are becoming simpler
Or more wholesome
Although occasionally
There will be a rush of blood

An apparent desperate need
For a temple on a mountaintop
Or its symbolic equivalent
Here in the Wolds

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Sat, in Highgate Cemetery

Sat, in Highgate Cemetery
By the imposing headstone of Karl Marx
A raindrop falls on my forehead
Here, in the ultimate place of shelter

There will be sleet falling
By the time we reach the East Gate
It is April, these are April showers
This shelter, it seems is a pilgrimage for many

But first to tell you of the shelter
Which brought me here
Chris Drury’s small exhibition
In the Avivson Gallery

Across the road
From the shop selling artisan bread
Where I had a scone
With blueberry preserves

Today the proprietor Janus tells me
A little of his story
Also he listens attentively
To a little of mine

He says that the large
Well framed signed print
Of a Chris Drury Echogram
Has sold for £15,000

A not dissimilar image catches my eye
It is entitled Everything / Nothing III
Though to my mind it could easily be named
Everywhere Nowhere / Another Shelter

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I find a sheltered place

I find a sheltered place
Here among the sand dunes
Behind me, the muted roar of the waves
In front of me, directly, remnants of hawthorn

Turned, black, and grey, and spiky
By the days of midday sun
Today my lunch is, a mindfully eaten
Prawn and mayonnaise sandwich

On wholemeal bread
Rather less mindfully
I guzzle the zero sugar Sprite
A sort of poor man’s lemonade

That I write this is exactly
As how I thought a shelter ought to be
Exactly how I imagined
That a writer might find his place

For the words not to be worried
But thoughtful, at one with the world
If it was ten degrees warmer
If the sea could be clear and blue

If the creepy crawlies
Did not creep all over my page
If all of that were true my friend
This would not still be such a quiet place

Of course I do not
Have to take an aeroplane
Or climb aboard
A luxurious small yacht

Which would take me
Down the Adriatic coast
From Split to Dubrovnik
All the while with eighteen other couples

Whom I may or may not care for
Although, in any event, I am quite sure
A very different sort of shelter
Would be formed

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