In my rightful righteous spot

In my rightful righteous spot
At the end of willow way
Where the Alpaca walks by
To stretch its legs

In that time, from the morning a while ago
To this time, in the here and now
The willows have grown considerably
Although I knew it in that previous moment

Today’s representation, or incarnation
Or maybe even manifestation
Would be a better word; no matter
For I know this to be a shelter

In much the same way
In which it makes me think
Of the mediation seating
In our own tended garden

Will it ever be joined over the top
Someone asks
As though always
We have the need to raise questions

I hadn’t thought on that
But of course, because
Once the seed is planted
I have no choice but to look at the sky

And wonder
How it would feel
To become enclosed
For my words to be hemmed in

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Beside the pond

Beside the pond
Which is today’s shelter
At the Open Garden in aid of
Cruise Bereavement Counselling

Who provide someone to talk to
When death comes along
Which it will
When your time, as mine also, must be called

Meanwhile England reach three hundred
In an important game against India
Where a win would be most welcome
When a victory could even be celebrated

I have been to this place before
In quieter times
With not quite so many folk
Milling around in conversation

Back then I sat at the far end
Of the meadow grass
To write about the peace of it all
Where the interwoven willow

Was beginning to provide
A most seasonal shelter
But today it is in full-on sun
With no hints of music in this minstrel’s habitat

No rhythms to disturb or still the chatter
Soon I will have a pot of tea
Perhaps with a scone
Or a cucumber sandwich

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I have moved

I have moved
From the seat with a dedication
To a bench not yet with a name

I have asked myself
What right do I have to say
That this whole place
Has been stolen from Yorkshire

Just as St Ives
Flattered our own Barbara Hepworth
With its bright Atlantic light

Schoolchildren and pensioners
Of which I am one or the other
Make up today’s
Spread out attendance

I too then a trespasser
Having found my shelter earlier
In the grounds of Orchard Cafe

There, or nearby, to see
A cast of Rupert Brooke
Also his good looking portrait
Hung on the wall in the tea rooms

All is very well here in these grounds
But it is a respite, or a swift retreat
Rather than truly being my shelter

I may visit again, to study in the archives
There to sit, to dwell calmly
And let the perceived truth
Erase my, wilder, first impressions

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From the cosmopolitan

From the cosmopolitan
Open to all
Yorkshire Sculpture Park

To the exclusivity
Of the upper-middle-class enclave
Which is Perry Green

Is it still you
Or is it someone other
Who turns from stone

To carve in Italian Marble
As used in the old classical style
From the quarries of Tuscany

So whose shelter is this
Does it belong more to your daughter
Than ever it did to you

And for myself
The champagne socialist
Where would I most easily settle for shelter

For sure I cared for Cambridge
Where I bought a wide leather belt
To remind me of style

It was more than I could afford
But then so is almost everything
In these, and also, the coming days

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Did Henry Moore find his shelter?

Did Henry Moore find his shelter?
Much Hadham is now a resting place
For Moore’s sculpture and drawings
Also for artists sketch books and pencils
To be bought in the gift shop by the entrance

I don’t know what was here before
Who planted the trees
Which reach for the sky
I don’t know who set out the lawns
For children to run free and safe

I do know that already
It is a victim of its own success
No spaces left in the car park
And the best outdoor seating
For the cafe is already occupied

I do know that I have not yet settled
Unlike at Kettle’s Yard or Orchard Cafe
To that extent then this isn’t my shelter
Although I do absolutely recognise
That it may be a shelter for many many others

I might know or understand the significance
Of the figures in the underground scenes
Families sleeping side by side
Beneath the streets of London
Finding their shelters from the war

You might also know or understand
That in my lifetime I have not known war
Nor am I likely to know war
When even leaves on the trees hang limp
I too am limp, unfit to be a combatant

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