This afternoon I am due
At the hospital
For physiotherapy
To heal my sciatica
For several weeks
Sciatica has been my shelter
Not by choice you understand
Though for sure it was within me
This is my second appointment
With John
Who works for the NHS
He impressed me on my first visit
He asks if I know
When or how the pain started
I really didn’t know this time
But last time was after a massage
Which was a bit of a ha-ha
Moment for John
Apparently, if you are not well supported
During massage the nerves can be trapped
The first time I had sciatica
The doctor blamed it on DIY
As he did also
For my tennis elbow, and my frozen shoulder
I have cut back on the DIY
My partner doesn’t let me do hardly any
Which is a bit of a nuisance
For a man supposedly creating shelters
So I turn to sciatica
As both poem and shelter
Already wondering if the next one
Might be Ibuprofen or Paracetamol
Saturday, 14 March 2020
Friday, 13 March 2020
I am in the Internet Corner
I am in the Internet Corner
Of the Atrium Prestige Hotel
On the Greek Island of Rhodes
I am entirely alone
In this calm space
Now that the cleaner has departed
My shelters for today
Have shiny marble floors
Chairs and tables from antiquity
Also bookshelves from IKEA
With the square Bridge tables
Covered in green baize to complete the look
That is apart from
The two computer monitors
Also from antiquity
Or at least the steam age
The framed painting
Is a repeat from our bedroom
It hangs between
Two full-height glass panels
By the large screen television
Is a Perspex tube or column
A place to recycle batteries
There are no ash trays
What with the Greeks just passing a law
To crack down on smoking in public
On the back wall
Opposite the TV
Are four, tall
Rectangular windows
Also canvas art prints
One is of Linda’s Acropolis
One is of cloisters
From who knows where
Yet, even in a room
Filled with clutter
There is a peacefulness
As befits
My penultimate days
In search of a vacation shelter
Of the Atrium Prestige Hotel
On the Greek Island of Rhodes
I am entirely alone
In this calm space
Now that the cleaner has departed
My shelters for today
Have shiny marble floors
Chairs and tables from antiquity
Also bookshelves from IKEA
With the square Bridge tables
Covered in green baize to complete the look
That is apart from
The two computer monitors
Also from antiquity
Or at least the steam age
The framed painting
Is a repeat from our bedroom
It hangs between
Two full-height glass panels
By the large screen television
Is a Perspex tube or column
A place to recycle batteries
There are no ash trays
What with the Greeks just passing a law
To crack down on smoking in public
On the back wall
Opposite the TV
Are four, tall
Rectangular windows
Also canvas art prints
One is of Linda’s Acropolis
One is of cloisters
From who knows where
Yet, even in a room
Filled with clutter
There is a peacefulness
As befits
My penultimate days
In search of a vacation shelter
Thursday, 12 March 2020
I have taken shelter in the plainsong
I have taken shelter in the plainsong
Happy with the cause and effect
Of suggestion followed by response
As if that isn’t just what I do
By allowing myself to become vulnerable
In a place where I have no provenance
I look at the sacred image
Of Jesus himself
Above the devil below
As if in my first visit to the opera
With Mephistopheles
Beneath the stage in central London
That neither of those items
Became any kind of shelter
Says a good deal
About the simplicity
And absolute naivety
Of my upbringing
Of course, by myself
I tried to change that
I went on many explorations
I moved shelters many times
Once or twice I thought I had found
The one space which truly mattered
Yet
Just as my casting off
The imagery and the hierarchy
Of organised religion
Sort of did it for me
The solution itself still wandered
It took me to the song
And the ritual
It took me to the incense
And the occasion
It took me beyond myself
To that way distant shelter
Happy with the cause and effect
Of suggestion followed by response
As if that isn’t just what I do
By allowing myself to become vulnerable
In a place where I have no provenance
I look at the sacred image
Of Jesus himself
Above the devil below
As if in my first visit to the opera
With Mephistopheles
Beneath the stage in central London
That neither of those items
Became any kind of shelter
Says a good deal
About the simplicity
And absolute naivety
Of my upbringing
Of course, by myself
I tried to change that
I went on many explorations
I moved shelters many times
Once or twice I thought I had found
The one space which truly mattered
Yet
Just as my casting off
The imagery and the hierarchy
Of organised religion
Sort of did it for me
The solution itself still wandered
It took me to the song
And the ritual
It took me to the incense
And the occasion
It took me beyond myself
To that way distant shelter
Wednesday, 11 March 2020
It is the second time
It is the second time
That I sit in this location
Today I take a photograph
To remind me, of the cup of tea
The biscuit and the writing tools
And the view
Out over the pools
Out over the sea
Out to the faraway horizon
It isn’t quite a shelter
But it could be
With a table to all four corners
The chairs I suppose
Could be called Colonial
Certainly the round table
With three spread-out feet
Is from that period
If I am not mistaken
Yew and Mahogany
Are not so popular now
Even when inlaid with ebony
Nevertheless, for a temporary writer’s shelter
They more than outperform
Much of what we call
Modernism
Which, will itself mean little
In one hundred years or more
Outside, on the open-air platform
The chairs and sofas
Are of rattan
With cotton covered cushions
We sat on them
In the moonlight
When the shelter
Became a place
To sip Grand Marnier, or Dubonnet
That I sit in this location
Today I take a photograph
To remind me, of the cup of tea
The biscuit and the writing tools
And the view
Out over the pools
Out over the sea
Out to the faraway horizon
It isn’t quite a shelter
But it could be
With a table to all four corners
The chairs I suppose
Could be called Colonial
Certainly the round table
With three spread-out feet
Is from that period
If I am not mistaken
Yew and Mahogany
Are not so popular now
Even when inlaid with ebony
Nevertheless, for a temporary writer’s shelter
They more than outperform
Much of what we call
Modernism
Which, will itself mean little
In one hundred years or more
Outside, on the open-air platform
The chairs and sofas
Are of rattan
With cotton covered cushions
We sat on them
In the moonlight
When the shelter
Became a place
To sip Grand Marnier, or Dubonnet
Tuesday, 10 March 2020
What will this future look like
What will this future look like
Will it be a shelter
In the style of
The Paper House
If so
Yes, if so
Should I read that book again
Before I begin my constructions
The Paper House is on order
As also is Springtime in a broken mirror
For they are both translated
By Nick Caistor
Which makes some sense
As my idea for a shelter
Is also a shelter in translation
A sort of cobbled together composite affair
What does this collaboration mean
Is it as
That between you
And your diving instructor
Is it that total trust
In someone other
As if as in yourself
To go somewhat deeper
This sea is one vast space
Even without knowing its depth
That we even dare to think
Of a shelter of such enormity
Says much about our belief
Of all of those rails
That we are yet to travel
Or mention in despatches
Will it be a shelter
In the style of
The Paper House
If so
Yes, if so
Should I read that book again
Before I begin my constructions
The Paper House is on order
As also is Springtime in a broken mirror
For they are both translated
By Nick Caistor
Which makes some sense
As my idea for a shelter
Is also a shelter in translation
A sort of cobbled together composite affair
What does this collaboration mean
Is it as
That between you
And your diving instructor
Is it that total trust
In someone other
As if as in yourself
To go somewhat deeper
This sea is one vast space
Even without knowing its depth
That we even dare to think
Of a shelter of such enormity
Says much about our belief
Of all of those rails
That we are yet to travel
Or mention in despatches
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