Clothes Horse

It is the middle of May

I am sixty-eight years old

I didn’t go to India as a younger man

Nor did I become a Buddhist

When the opportunity offered itself

I wear a sea blue polo shirt by Superdry

White denim jeans by Gap

And turquoise, colour-burst

Cotton socks courtesy of Sock Shop

My auburn hair is permed, though not yet

Washed or brushed or combed today

It is several days since I shaved

And it will be several more until I do

I have walked down the garden

To write these words

I hope you approve

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Let It Lie

There are other places to write

Yet, right now, in this Twombly book

Feels like the best place to write

Maybe it is because this book

Is nearing its end as a place to write

Soon I will have to start another book

Yet this book, it has been a good companion

I care for the feel of the cover

Also for the smooth pages within

There will be a sadness when it is over

When it is stored away

As another part of the year Twenty-Twenty

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Do Not Let It Be

The age of the bicycle is a surprise

Yet will the buyer see it in the same light

Does an object which has seen little or no use

Retain any other value than its age denotes

And if the screw should fit, when you are told it won’t

Is it simply defiance, or stubbornness which makes you try

Never to be defeated; was that, or is that your motto

And if anyone should ask, you won’t show off now, will you

We did take the bicycles to Scotland

To Fife, Anstruther to be particularly precise

We rode them on the coast roads, by the fields of gold

We also took them to the Hebrides, to ride in sunshine and rain

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Leave Me Be

It is mostly about being able to be elsewhere

Not necessarily to escape from suffering

For one may already be in a good place

Yet there is a desire, a calling one might say

For the vast open moorlands

Or the wildly raging seas

Equally, one might be drawn to the warm soft sands

Or the settled hollows among the dunes

It is as though one seeks a solitude

A determination to be freed of disturbance

From wherever that noise may come to trample

For trample it does, to take thought from no-thought

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Talk With Me

There is no stream to flow

Or meadow grass to lie upon

There is no truth to know

Or wild minds to walk among

There are no doubts to grow

Or worries to climb thereon

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