Monday morning
Blue sky
Bright sunlight
Wind blowing
Like billy-ho
How far
To the schoolyard
To the maypole
To those memories
Unable to be crystallised
Most days I would try to write a poem; it is a practice, as I suppose is meditation, or smiling, or watching the world go by
Monday morning
Blue sky
Bright sunlight
Wind blowing
Like billy-ho
How far
To the schoolyard
To the maypole
To those memories
Unable to be crystallised
In sunlight
And laughter
If it’s boredom
That you’re after
There’s other places to go
How could I not see
Another part of me
How else to be
With perspicacity
Befuddled
Arrive at The Bothy for one full week
Provisions bought at M&S
So little need for further departures
But absolutely no TV
Even though last night’s
Sky Arts expose of the Moody Blues
Totally captivated me
My clumsiness
Is fast approaching
A worrying level
Says he
As his coca-cola bubbles over
And floods all across the table top
Meanwhile
A Fever Tree advertisement
Is read out at The Valley
A particularly uninspiring
Shopping centre
On the outskirts of Evesham
On this grey cloud
Monastic Retreat Monday morning
With three more weeks to go
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