Observation Point

Out by the bamboo umbrellas
Already you are in the sea
As I sit in the shade
Drinking my Americano

The sea is blue
The sky is blue
The horizon is drawn
With pinpoint accuracy

To my left there is a mountain
In my head there is a song
All the day is almost open
As the crickets sing along

Do you swim
Or do you float
Or do you feel as I do
In the depths of meditation

Where do the waves take you
Where do you return to
Does the salt weigh heavy on you
Does the saline water support you

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Calm Storm

These are not the beautiful people
Although I half expect
That they would like to be

And, maybe back at home
Without such stiff competition
They may we’ll pass muster

My issue though is more with forgetfulness
I left my coat at home
I left my glasses in the bedroom

I believe it is difficult to swagger
In your sixties and your seventies
No matter how graceful you once were

I will swim in the sea tomorrow
It wouldn’t do to rush at it
Better to have gradual preparation

Instead I read my emails
Get angry at Virgin Media’s
Lack of response to my cancellation

I then determine, that actually
I cannot achieve much by being angry
Not in the sunshine or seas of Rhodes

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Hectic

By the water’s edge
Watching the paddle boat
Move from East to West
Or is it North to South

The waves lap the shore
No more energy than that
Is being expounded today

Soon I will go to the bar
Sit on a high stool
To drink strong coffee

But for now.
I will watch you swim
Through one blue line, then another

The arm swings
I want to say laconically
Yet there is a rhythm

I lose my concentration
My biscuit falls to the floor
I say, oh bugger

Then I reflect
This is one good place
There will be a new biscuit tomorrow

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Skills Base

The single yacht
Leans into the warm breeze
The sailors among you
May know a more technical term
But I am no sailor

I am a man of the land
Born as far away from the sea
As is possible
In this the county of my birth
As such it is true; I am no sailor

Instead as a single man
I tramped on the peat bog
The Pennine way walkers among you
May know older terminology
But I am no serious walker

I am a man of dreams
In the fullness of my mind
Psychologists among you
May know a more esoteric word
But I am no psychologist

Instead, as a teenager
I learnt a skilful trade
Tradesmen among you
May recognise the term indentured
But I left all that behind

The single yacht
Is no place for a walker
But it may be fine for a sailor
Or a man who dreams
Of a disengaged teenager

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First Base

Thousands of ants
Dozens of sparrows
The sun being up
Before we were up

White buildings
Blue blue sea
The day ahead
Already ahead of us

A small garden
With petals of flowers
The way out
Was also the way in back-along

I sit in the shadow
Out of the sun
I watch the haze
On the horizon

Not needing to beautify
Or make any more extravagant
This is the stillness, it is almost
Exactly what I was looking for

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Christopher's Collected Works Website