Roll The Dice

I am in the bright light of beauty

A fine distant reflection

Of sunlight on still water

Even if I could not actually remember

Or not so much as even be there

I could still imagine, couldn’t I

There would have been a purpose

Of that you can be sure of

Yet it too could be lost on you, forgive me

One part of my story

Is awash and away with the birds

In all sizes, with all shades through to grey

Another past is a cumulus cloud formation

Which presses, formidably

With suggestions of romantic storms

That the fear-of-flying inhabitants have departed

And the dog endlessly barks

Adds to the unease of subsequent thoughts

I choke, and I cough

At my own attachment

To a life being totally non-religious

I wonder to myself

Will the pigeon leave the rooftop

And settle on the diamanté window 

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Consciousness, Almost

I feel a deep desire

To explore the thoughts I thought

Yet I know the embers dying in that fire

There is pain to be sold and bought

But, from nowhere comes a flash of light

What if I had to live my life

Through the thoughts I thought

With purest expectation for the fight or flight

Blue skies and raindrops

How does one experience the moment

To write of the thought before the thought stops

To capture the essence as the purpose lies broken

I didn’t remember

I do that fairly often

Just as for your birthday in September

And the flowers which so so slowly soften

The peace here is deafening

As the conscience begins to ring

Calm concentration is threatening

As hopes stand proud to sing

Stretch out the explanations

Of the thoughts we wish to see

Bathe in a free mind’s revelations

As we take our time to be 

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The St Ives Bay Line

From the bluff

To the two pounds twenty

Tins of diet coca-cola

In the shade now

(And it is cold)

On the railway station platform 

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Carbis Bay

He laughs

And he smiles

As he plays in the water

Such a joy

To see his beam of a smile

As he plays in the water

All angst is gone

All fear collapsed

As he plays with his friend in the water

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Cape Cornwall

The quieter man

Moves away

From the quiet place

To the quieter place

At the moment

He has no need of conversation

Which, to be honest

Is not a new thing

I think I told you before

Of his abject refusal

To play his part

In his school’s nativity

I did not understand

But was so so sure

That he was missing out

On something he would later regret

I may well have cajoled and bullied

The boy being at an impressionable age

Such that now he sits alone on the rocks

Posing his questions for the ocean 

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