Should we build a raised bed

Should we build a raised bed
I will ask the question
Should we be so easily led
Is nowhere such nigh on perfection
Should the lawn have formal stripes
So so evenly spread
Or is decoration
A simpleton’s mindful deception
Are the tulips such a so so stunning red
Did love ever need such timely correction
In this shelter then we are to be fed
Day by day, plus weekends without exception
To grow our own
As this one-time gardener said
With little or no fear
Of cross-pollinated infection
What then of the stock that the farmer bred
How do we counterbalance
Our own interjection
To hear the shouts of vegans
Or of vegetarians instead
Whose show is to be bound
By a most strongly biased rejection
For my shelter
Will not be caught by steed nor stead
Rather there will be a pointer
To the golden section
The reason is to be there
For all, by all to be read
In our search
For the pearls of perfection
The pieces will be sewn
With the finest of thread
To make blankets for future imperfection
The path will appear to be so so straight ahead
Towards the shelter
Without need for further direction
The sleepers will hold
The branches that we shred
To provide warmth, to give frost protection
Of course we will top off smartly
With lots of street cred
Before the competitive festival inspection
Should we build a two-way sled
For the winter of the snow’s reflection
One last chance to nod the seasonal head
Yes, yes we say
Let this be the complete collection

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I have to tell you

I have to tell you
Of the breeze on my legs
Of the ruffle of airstreams through my hair
It isn’t a Zephyr, from over the sea

Nor a Mistral, which could have travelled
Across mountain-streams
But it is the air that is with me
With me right now

I read a poem by Forough Farrokhzad
She was asking an invited guest
To bring a window
Also she may have asked

For the Brickfielder
At the end of the garden
Or the Etesian, which jostles with the bushes
As if to say: I am here, let me through

The gardens are in shadow
Also the fence
In front of my neighbours' blossom
Is partly darkened, yet more so it is in full sun

I have to tell you
Of the breeze on my legs
Of the ruffle of airstreams through my hair
It isn’t a Zephyr, from over the sea

Nor a Mistral, which could have travelled
Across mountain-streams
But it is the air that is with me
With me right now

I read a poem by Forough Farrokhzad
She was asking an invited guest
To bring a window
Also she may have asked

For the Brickfielder
At the end of the garden
Or the Etesian, which jostles with the bushes
As if to say: I am here, let me through

The gardens are in shadow
Also the fence
In front of my neighbours' blossom
Is partly darkened, yet more so it is in full sun

I am reading Memories of the Future
At the same time I think on
Of my future, of my past
How many dwellings

How many shelters
How much protection
From the elements
Or from the wandering subconscious

Am I the lucky one
Or is it the water
As it flows over the rocks, tumbles
And splashes into the pond

Not that this is my first shelter with a pond
There have been others
But way less successful
Let’s hope this one changes the mould

No more twisted ankles
No more failed relationships
No more dissatisfaction
With whatever are the outcomes

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Preparations are underway

Preparations are underway
For a sort of official unveiling
The lamb was marinated overnight
And put in the oven by nine-thirty
The table, which once held my tools
Is cleaned and polished
Ready for the place settings
Prepared for its first use in a dining capacity
The pump was the first purchase
How is it possible to have a pond
Without water flowing
Yes, I do know that it is a simulation
This is not my childhood stream being damned
Or the rill, built in my second place of shelter
Yet for all of that
In some sympathetic, empathetic gesture
The margins are also sloping
A technique learnt
In a quite different place of shelter
Which, if only I had known it at the time
Was a transitory experience
A peak if you like
Only found once in a lifetime

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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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