Turf

The grass

Did hold the raindrops

Before that

It had held the dew

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Working Class Hero

 I didn’t ask

But I am pretty sure

He would have smoked Woodbines

Or Park Drive, on his allotment

Beside the Humber Estuary

Those flats or smooth slopes

Contoured by the tide

Giving a certainty more even

Than the drag-in, followed by

The puff-out, of cigarette smoke

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Commentary

There is a man on the boundary

Just in front of square

Root yet to get off the mark

Just go with a bit of experience

At least they have had some success

It can help you as a player

Giving it that extra bit of fizz

Sometimes causes trouble

Nearly. Nearly. 

He survives

He is young

You’ve got to remember that 

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Years Later

 Olive green blossom leaf

Set against the umber clay

Of the chimney pot

Where the pigeons

Share an intimacy

In the afternoon summer sun

As if a conversation

Was unnecessary

Before the butterfly flew by

Would it matter if I said hello

In an icy-breath kind of way

Black slate from the valleys

Set against freckled red brick

Where layers of shadows

Have asked intimate questions

As the tall conifers looked on

Now, for absolute certain

Words must be spoken

To encourage the flowering

Of the yes-no interlude

In a need to respond sort of way

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Unsettled

This time yesterday

The heavens opened

Rain poured towards the drains

Not quite the breeze of today

Yet compensated

By the thunder and lightning

The café was incredibly slow

Such a wait

For coffee, sandwich and cake

You would not just wait

At the road junction would you

Choosing instead to turn the other way

Will your impatience stay with you

Or can you become sufficiently at peace

To wait and wait and wait and wait… 

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