Plans, Christopher; They Are For Changing

A morning for organisation - of sorts

Updates to the weekly planner

Recognising those things which I do do

Acknowledging those things which clearly I don’t

Making the necessary promises to myself

I am supposed to be compiling a database

From the year dot to the year whenever

But as an integral part of the process

I foolishly determined to rewrite

All of the poems, yes, every last one

In a way that is how this book started; I was intensely

Frustrated by the years before two-thousand and five

My records where at best spasmodic, at worst absent

So, if I was going to be rewriting the old poems

Then why not simply start anew, with fresh words

Of course, as often happens, the plot thickens 

So now I write of the events of 2004 but in 2018

Yet I also include words from reference sources

Which I have to tell you, I had not thought to access

Back in the day so to speak

But right here, right now, I can’t help myself

For as much as the vulva nostalgia works for me

I am also attracted by the world of psychology

The psychoanalysis of what goes on

In this fruitful little mind of mine

available on amazon

Developments

The hotel is now a private house

Which is perhaps not a bad thing

For truth to tell it was not a great place

Although it did have direct access

To the beach, to the rock pools

Where the children went to discover

What the adults had already thought ok

This not being a Barrier Reef resort

Or a white beach, as may be found in Belize

Then what of the inhabitants of the property

Who have apparently spent 10 million pounds

On the modernist, minimalist conversion

Would they not be better advised

To have ten-thousand trips to the Maldives

Why do we return, what are we in search of

Especially if the memories are not of altogether good times

Yes, I know there was the day out to Samarès Manor

Which gave the opportunity for sublime photographs

Followed by lunch in their exquisite gardens

Of course I do also remember the midnight play

Where we shared Shakespeare’s sensitive excitements

available on amazon

In Search Of Michelangelo

This morning I shaved my pubic hair

For tomorrow I have to go for a scan

I had no choice but to remember...

But it was only the once, wasn’t it

Our wanton days left way behind

Our carefree bathroom adventures

Not now to be repeated

Not now to stoke your mind

I am taken to Helen Dunmore’s poem

Wild Strawberries; in my heart

And in my soul I hold onto that sense

Of things just beyond, life just out of reach

I did nick two bits of skin

With my inexpensive electric razor

I didn’t bother with plaster, but

I did splash on the after shave

I don’t recall what we did, back in the day

Or what we might have done

Had the bathroom revamp been completed

Hi-ho, once more caught out by the plumbing

available on amazon

Provisions

The pieces of cold dry toast

Leftovers

From this morning’s Writer’s Cafe

Remind me

Of the Swedish crisp-breads

We bought in the Red House Supermarket

Today my topping is Aldi’s Cheese spread

With Honey-Roasted Salmon flakes

The whole thing taken with a pot of tea

Back in the day, long before 2004

We would have had Port Salut cheese

Perhaps with a bottle of Muscadet

Yet the real joy was in the shopping

To walk hand in hand, down the aisles

Excitedly making our Friday teatime choices

At the end of it all we lived in a small village

It had a petrol station, a Co-op, a general store

The owners of which also delivered newspapers

I would often buy a pie or a pastie there

On my way to work, I might even say

Good morning, to your friend, with a warm smile

I don’t believe that she ever, not purposefully

Came between us, though I thought you

Might have sought-after her freedom for life

available on amazon

Tanned

I had been once before to St Malo

On my way to an industrial complex near Lille

We travelled on the ferry from Portsmouth

Me, with my practical, my technical colleague

What is on your mind

As you lean on, as you look over the sea wall

Across the narrow road from the cafe

Your body language says you are resigned

Are you beginning to despise me

With my bullish, brutish, yob-like ways

Have you fallen from love

Have I collapsed the scaffolding

Do you blame yourself, time after time

For not managing the rhythm method

Do you curse at the predicament

You found yourself in, once again

Are we halfway from the end

The end of whatever we had

Are the photographs I take

Only for a far away happiness

available on amazon