Sideways, Straight-On Glances

The window panes

Are covered in water droplets

The fine mist has turned to rain

Smoke, from next doors chimney

Hangs in the air before dispersing

The window panes

They are my notebook

Raindrops are my tea-leaves

A spiritual one will arrive soon

To make a sense of my sense

The mist and smoke

Are my pencil and paper

Intertwined and misaligned

They tear at each other’s

Very being

That both have disappeared

Leaves me endless

some might say pointless

Tomorrow, so I understand

Things are forecast to change

 

Appetite

The lack of treacle tart

Is becoming an issue

As you know Buckfast Abbey

Is well known for serving

The best treacle tart in the world!

It comes on a hot plate

With lashings of warm syrup

Poured all over the tart and the plate

Before a substantial slab of clotted cream

Is added to finish things off

During previous visits

It became a mid-afternoon ritual

After a stroll by the river or a climb up the hill

Either way the exercise

Prepared one for the indulgence

Oddly, however much I write

In the present moment

I am in no way sated

No, only the real thing will do

I will be back!

 

On Your Way

One step after the next
Out through the big door
Across the paved forecourt
Should I go to the bookshop
Or the refectory
Or perhaps a little further
To the post office
To buy a book of stamps
And to post my lover a letter

I have the time, today
Today time is not an issue
If in truth it ever was
Other than in my receptacle mind
Even when, just as with money
I craved to be the one in control
Now though, that is nowadays
I have the luxury, without income
To let go of the chase

Not that I have financial wealth
Although I do live month to month
Or year to year
By that I mean not ‘day to day’
I can no longer travel the world
Due to fiscal and physical limitations
But I am able, and I do go, virtually
Everywhere, everywhere where, my mind
My memories, and my life might suggest

 

In Memoriamus

With intention

I take myself off

Out of my one self

Into my many selves

As I move

From one potter’s wheel

To the next port of call

I discover a new intention

At this point I pause

Wait awhile, listen out

For sustainable reverberations

Or impending voices of silence

It is as if

All of beauty awaits

Calling upon me

To make many visitations

First Steps (And All That)

I walked up the path

To the gate (five bars and all that)

Like all new tracks, or pathways new to me

It took me from a familiar place

To a more foreign escarpment

That I felt happy to settle there

Sufficient to draft a letter

Says something I do believe

About my mood, my insight for nature

Before I began the steady climb

I was prepared for a positive outcome

Hopefully my letter explored this

Although I may have been distracted

When you entered into the writing

As often happens on sunny afternoons

How not to have one's head turned

Returning, to land over sea

Before the slow, peaceful descent

Onto the island’s airstrip

Where the wheels touched down

I walked through arrivals

To the gate (full inspection and all that)

Like all new entrances, or passages new to me

It took me from a familiar place

Into the ways of a more beautiful life