Back with the blue
In such a way
As never having been away
Just like the restaurant
At Gloucester Docks
Seems like yesterday
Of course Wagamama
Does carry that deja-vu
Also being in Sheffield and Lincoln
Yet all are back in the day
All truly before
Blue came along
To bring Berlin
Into my life
With its theatres and its wall
And its bridge over the river
By the gate, and the hotel
Wondering
Where my pen might take me
From the imagined streets
Of Berlin
To that bridge over the river
After several strong shots
Of whisky
In the American’s bar
Such a long kiss
The sort of embrace
Which opened all imaginations
And it was me
I was my own co-conspirator
Narrator, and cause celeb
It was I
Spinning and weaving
In the depths of a writer’s double life
I look
At the nine
New notebooks
It is time
To press on
Time to interrupt the delay
But first
To tell you of the sunlight
To tell you
Of the canons of inspiration
Such strombolic music
To accompany
The bending light
The rainbow waveforms
Emanating
How long to have been away
So difficult to return
Especially as the pen
Is not flowing freely
Yes, the Berlin Blue
Is in need of replenishment
As also is the soul of this writer
On a quite troublesome day
Yet the debt must be repaid
To have lived such a good life
Without giving an ounce of thanks
Is not praise as praise should be
How long then until the next time
What certainty of pessimism
Might cause the words to dry up
Or, to dry out, may read better
There is always a distance
A gradual wandering pathway
Through climbing moorland streams
The new year diet is begun
Music, art, literature
And a little less food
Yes down to sixteen hundred
Calories a day
For the next three months
Mind you, the walking
Hasn’t taken off
Like it should have
It’s just not in me
Not in this dull cold weather
Where I prefer to play
With inkblots
And spots of memories
From the near and distant past
When I encouraged
The Rorschach test