Interiority

I am nothing

When with nothing at all to write

I am nowhere

When with nowhere at all to go

I am no one

When with no one there to remind me

I do hear

The birdsong in the garden

I do see

The leaves settled on the tree

I did taste

That meal which I cooked earlier

Whose smell

Was the best bit by far

With such a collapse to repetition

Do I deserve any more, or any less

With such a fall to clumsiness

Do I really have any hope of finesse

With such a grope for desire

Do I forget times of non-delayed gratification

With such a cumulation of urges

Do I lose the path to sincere compassion

I am, I do

Hearing

Such repetition

I am desirous, I am urging

Unwelcome Guests

Out in the country

On my bicycle

I stopped, for a drink

From my flask of orange

I sat, on a bench

Beside the old canal

Which still does go, if somewhat half-heartedly

All the way to the coast

Young, urban youths

Tease the cows in the field

While their parents watch on

Sat in the car smoking cigarettes

I came here simply to be a quiet observer

To watch the grasses

Bend, and blow, in the breeze

Steadily, peacefully serene

Instead the continuous chitter-chatter

Even one might say the racket

Of the city-dwelling, uninvited intruders

To this rural, might I say, ‘countryside idyll’

They have gone now

All that are left

Are a few walkers, in isolation

And those colourful cyclists, in stretch lycra

Once Upon A Time

Why so so

So many changes

Why so so, so much forgiveness

Whatever

Can be the circumstances

For life to gift this richness

Why wouldn’t I write

Of love which is like

The sunlight on the floor

Why would I not focus

On the lover’s dust

Which lies just behind the door

Losing It

I am going

I am leaving

I can’t stand the thought

Of self-deceiving

How would I reach myself

With a voice on my shoulder

How should I find new wealth

As I grow older, and older

Where is the reason

Of the seasons left behind

Tell me of the treasons

For the likes of my kind

I am going

I am leaving

I go without hope

In deep, deep grieving

How would I preach to myself

With a show on my shoulder

How could I regain my health

As you grow colder, and colder

Where is the crimson

Which the kings left me to find

Pray tell me of the gym run

With the slopes which may be less inclined

Instant Tone

All the while then

That we are dreaming

Making reams of paper

From the breathing

In the sunlight

Shadows are of stillness

Dreams or thoughts

There for willingness

All the while then

Tightness is reaching

Schools of easy living

Hopes there for redeeming

On the island

On the mainland

Reaching for distance

I am the same man

All the while then

Flights are freeing

Preach for past times

Freedom from the fleeing

In this real world

Of Monday morning

Each is of the other

Taking care of the shoring