South Circular

Thirty years or so

Ten thousand days or more ago

To remember the metallic, sky-blue, rover car

To go there without knowing

To return, knowing more

Though still without knowing

A quarter of a million hours ago

Yet not a time

To clock-watch on the telephone

To be there but not be there

In the centre of the storm

Yet still to be there, but not there

Fifteen million minutes

A million fifteen minutes of fame

Fame for one in a million

To be acknowledged

Yet also, to be taken away

Back to that place of thirty years ago

Acting Allocations

Hope to be the lover

Hope to recover

Cope with the difficulties

Shore up the diminutives of indifference

Hope to rediscover

Hope to smother the loss

Cope with the onrush of newness

Shore up the wonders of past memories

See the sunlight

Stranded on the suspended threads

See the church

Camouflaged by trees

As the watches reflections

Strike the desk

Lined up by the wall

Be thankful for what only you do see

Immersed

In memories of what only you do know

Yet, yes, as always yet

Memories where others have played their part

Right Angle

I have lost my way a little

What, with sciatica

Toothache

And a swiftly diminishing bank balance

I have turned to old love

To write of love

I have gone back to past times

To pass this time of life

The spiders web

Woven from banister batik

To window, to wall

Developed day by day

Yet I don’t see the protagonist

Neither do I ever hear from the old love

Perhaps they, as I myself

Maybe they have also lost their way

I listen to Gregorian chant

Congratulate myself on the fact

That today the margins do not slope

I am, so it appears, almost upright

All Of This; And Then Some

All of this

I rather feel

That you would welcome

All of course

Except the tear

In the silver lining

All of which

I do suppose

Approaches melancholy

All of course

Except the tear

To smudge the make up

All of what

Did I hear you say

Seeking exposure

All of course

Except the cobwebs

Leading to the dust

Present; Correct

The light is good

The breeze is strong

The tiredness

Throughout the body

Is replicated by the dryness

Of the blossom-tree leaves

The afternoon is mine

It wasn’t always going to be so

What is yours is or isn’t yours

I have no way of knowing

The place, this place

The new desk

Beside the banister

With Batik

An upstairs window

Which looks out

Over trees, over rooftops

Over half-way horizons

The time is good

The mind is strong

The awareness

Throughout the body

Is contrasted

By the endless line of slights in the sky