The hair is like
A ragamuffin man
As if the scarecrow
In the Wizard of Oz
Not that he cares
Or at least
He pretends not to care
With his air of superiority
The blue sky
The silver white clouds
The wind, as near and far
As the eye can see
Lampshades
Photographs
Double-glazed clear windows
With a gleam and a sparkle
The old clock
Does not tick nor tock
Neither does it chime
Contemplation, meditation even
Gifts the time
To rehearse one’s art
In the spirit
Of loving kindness
As if to sojourn
In the meadow
Or saunter
Over the sand dunes
With love in the ascendency
There to find
The lover
The poet
The song
Of all mankind
Settled into the hollow
Sheltered by humanity
From your worries
To practice your work
In readiness for the future
Two hearts
Equally broken
One hurt by the other
The other torn
By the same one
One stands
Wobbly and tearful
The other
Lies on the floor
Writhing in pain
Red eyes
Are streaming
As cold voices
Struggle
To scream and shout
Rain
Turns to sleet
Turns to snow
Depression
Turns to doubt
Turns to joy
Tears
Turn to tantrums
Turn to laughter
I
Turn to you
You turn to smile
He looks at photographs
Of half-empty beaches
And the boat trip
Out to Seal Island
On his solitary vacation
No one to talk to
After the dismal breakfast
At the vegetarian B&B
No conversation either
In the public house at teatime
Yet the images suggest
A calmness, tranquility even
The shot of the footbridge
In shadow over the railway line
Is particularly artful and abstract
He had bought the camera
On the way down
The shop assistant told him
It was the latest model
And would serve him well
This proved to be perfectly true
Especially in the bus station
With a composed capture of departure
Although his request for a private audience