Isolation

I remember being there

I remember not being there

I transport myself

One way then the other

From the present to the past

With a simple, but effective

Forgetfulness about the future

Ice creams will be

The abiding memory

That, and the scent

Of the flower in the meadow

Whose beauty

I know now to have left behind

Lost in that wondrous moment

I am there again now

As I sip my Americano

As I nibble at my currant teacake

I am sat beside those old buildings

Old structures here as there

But here given a new purpose

Which could also happen there

Reclamation and regeneration

To find a place of calm

To develop a sanctuary

Where a retreat life

Could be followed

With some integrity

With some gusto

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Aero

Boarding time in Pisa

Almost

But even speedy-boarders have to wait

For the delayed aircraft

A drone

Spotted in Manchester

Is blamed for the ten minute

Change to schedule

Already we are in reverse mode

Backing away

Then turning, taxi-ing

To the take-off strip

When landing on water

Take a lifejacket

Pull it over your head

There is a light and a whistle

The pilot and crew hope you have

A great flight

With heavy emphasis on the great

As we take off into the mid-day sky

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Tired Comfort

Is it not possible
To order coffee
And also save the seat

Instead to watch the people
Infused with Italian style
At the end of this retreat

A retreat into art
A retreat into religion
A retreat into a great many gelatos

It is not possible
To leave one’s bags
In the departure hall

Instead to go on walkabout
To cast one’s eyes
While listening for the boarding call

Then to catch the prize
Of a backwards falling table
Never known to admit to defeat

The disdain of it all
Nowhere to set down one’s feet
Between here and Pisa’s final gate

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Lift Up For The County

Today is departure day

To the station

To the airport

To the car

To home

But first the check-out

Then the breakfast

Then, so I am told

We will walk

Carrying our cases to the station

Past the gallery

Where we saw Giorgio Morandi

Or at least his works

For his quiet life

Is well and truly over

That I

A country boy from Yorkshire

Should talk of such

On the very day that a one time near neighbour

Is crowned Poet Laureate

Although the truth is

That he has acquired

A great deal of sophistication

Since writing of those moon-raker

Nights and days

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Lavish Night Ahead

Mass is done for the day

The dancers

Dance their welcome kisses

The soundcheck voice

Sings The Great Pretender

Mass

In the small chapel

For no more than a dozen

In this city of a million souls

Shame on you, the non-believers

Non-believers such as I

Non-believers such as you

Who keep this religion alive

By paying with hard cash for our curiosity

By paying with hard cash for our intrigue

For the faith in the self

Is not ever without doubt

However close the silence

The Kula Shaker is always Govinda

While the mouse-mat, it always squeals

Caught once more

By the soprano

Caught once more

By those angels of the gods

Who continue to sing their welcome

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