Verse And Chorus

I may be leaving

I don’t  really know why

Or for that matter when

Neither do I know where I might be going

I will remember

These flat lands

Which are really not flat at all

Say that again; really not flat at all

Yet, from the sea

Across the marshes, up through the fields

There is a chance of flood

Say that again; there is a chance of flood

I may be leaving

That time has turned around

The clock and I move on

Somewhere now must be the future

I will remember

These flat lands

Which are really not flat at all

Say that again; really not flat at all

Yet, from the sea

Across the marshes, up through the fields

There is a chance of flood

Say that again; there is a chance of flood 

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Rise And Shine

Cooling down

Going quiet

After a bodily engagement

Settling down

Being quiet

After a mindful resurgence

Out of down

Into quiet

After a presence emergent

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This Could Take A Long Time

All around

Yes, both nearby

And far away

The discrepancies arise

Nothing is

As anything ever was

So why think to repeat

The thing you thought was only quite good

Better surely

To strike out for the new

To take the adventure

By the scruff of the neck

But how to do that

The Algarve; entirely by chance

Ireland; a real leap of faith

Atrium Prestige; no personal recommendations

Other than 

All of those memories

About Leonard Cohen

And his muse, and his music

But back to now; the yellow and blue

Or anywhere nearby

Is surely off-limits

As also is crossing that airspace

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Hope And Damage

How to dismantle

Such a thing

As I alone

Have constructed

To take a mallet

And a chisel

To the white block

Of plaster of Paris

To take a wash

Of a darker colour

To the study

Of plants and flowers

How to disassemble

Such a piece of work

As I alone

Have created

To take a sonnet

Or a limerick

To the free verse

Of another’s life

How to destroy

A lover

With the obsessiveness

Which I alone created

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Sworn To Wander

A new citizenship

For an old citizen

Of the other place

Boxes ticked

Facts cross-checked

All parameters sworn into

And what of the status

Does it allow the purchase of a home

Or a position of permanent employment

That you should meet their criteria

Shows how quickly time passes

Or how slow is my distant recall

That I always returned

To this island, nay county, of my birth

Shows a marked lack of real adventure

That this is your third island

Of substantial habitation

Perhaps shows a stable wanderer

Yet, for me, as a writer

Every day a new citizen

Every day an old mantra

 

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