Sequential

The ideals, they have not lasted

Even their commitments

Have faded away

Where now to find new inspiration

As the upstairs floorboards creek

And days apart are all we have

How then to light a new candle

Place a writer’s desk

In the space of new hope

It is early summer

How much more

Might we sustainably wish for

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Referential

I used to be a near-on champagne socialist

Now I am almost a champagne Buddhist

No commitment then, back then

No commitment also, here and now

Would it change our memories

If summer was one day long

If summer enchanted us

With its beauty all day long

The same for autumn, winter, or spring

If we fully tasted that one day

If we could cast it wilfully

Into our one day of consciousness

I used to be in the woods

Or on the beach

Yet now, for many reasons

I am in my mind

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Planted Out

This house is not my house

This garden is not my garden

I do feel this

More and more each day

I do not have my own space

Nor doubt I ever will

I am always in a shared space

Even when you are still

I also am often still

For with no room to go to

And no row of beans to grow

I stay away from horticulture

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Tactile

I place an egg-shaped stone

On the arm of the garden seat

It is not a great or grand thing

Though it gifts me a smile

And as I write that

The sun comes out

To make the reflection on the paper

One of intense light, immense energy

Yet I press on

For I know shadows will arrive

Either from the clouds

Or from my presence within

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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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