Without Pavements

The piano played

The sun rose

Frost covered

The forest

And the moor

Down

Into the shade

Slowly up the hill

Congested

Single roads

Without pavements

Around the corner

Into the vista

The whole world

Before we go

Over the horizon

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Is It Fair To Thank You

Is it fair

To say thank you

For this broken heart

Without such pain

I may have forgotten

The passion

The exceptional

Gifts of love

Of sensual sensation

Moved by words

By pictures

By place

By time

By the moment

Of images

Imagined

Splashes of water

Autumn leaf’s falling

Winter’s morning

Snow 

Ice

Frost

Sun

Into recovery

To lose hold

Of the intensity

Inarticulate insensitivity

Of bruise

Of tear

Of rip

Scratch

Torment

Gouge

Bully 

Betray

Pray

If to hold

To be so bold

To be so so soon

Time

For more to life

Yet left alone 

Alone to discover

Fair it is

In fact I insist

Thank you

I say, thank you

For my broken heart

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The Oasis Of Escape

There’s a turn up for the book:

That monasteries began

As an oasis

An escape from the submission

To the solitude of

The desert

And now

In search of peace

Drawn to the solitude

Drawn to the monastery

From the oasis of escape

That is life

Why leaf

Where riot

Why peace

Where quiet

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Would The Words Be Colder

If this was a bigger book

Would they be longer poems

If this was a slower fuck

Would you lose your lusted loins

If this was a railway platform

Would the words be colder

If this was by the ladies dorm

Would your lips be bolder

If this was beyond right now

Would there be no further

If this was outside of how

Would there be no murder

If this then all came good

Would I have to end myself

If this we truly understood

Would the story tend to delve

If this, not for me

Then for anyone

Would this then, that you

You could be the one

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1-4-7-1 Gave Me A Number

The telephone broke my sleep

Four-thirty or five-past-four

I did on purpose look

But I simply don’t remember

1-4-7-1 gave me a number

Zero seven it began

A mobile from away maybe

But a voice of familiarity

Five messages on the machine 

But what had you asked

While you were away

For they are your words I fear

There is a time difference

How can it possibly be

Hours away yet at the same time

Still here with me

Newspapers have no news

Politicians only yawn

Nine days have elapsed

Since that unanswered phone

Stornaway is flashed on screen

Alcatraz and Iraq

But in my mind I deduce

That you, are at home, confused

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