Undoing

I have an inkling

That it would be good

To strip myself right back to the core

But how would I do such a thing

Would I have to give up

Family, friends, acquaintances

And what about the writing

Does that too have to be cast off

Along with the music and the movies

No more to hear Otis sing

Or to talk of past regrets

Also to forget about meditation

What goodness will this bring

To the new king without clothes

Neither a suitcase to pack them in

Take stock, of the wedding ring

You never had old lad

But don’t be sad, no not sad

Nod your head to cherishing

That would be a neat way

To conclude your drift

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Bar

Two lads call in

Workmen perhaps

For a pint

A game of pool

Then outside

For a cigarette

Before racking up

Once more

I try

To think about romance

But nothing is forthcoming

Even though I’ve been in love

Many times over

Although

Then again

I never was a hustler

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Susurration

Teams of dry leaves

Are blown down the main road

As if on their way to the dust bowls

It is the drying, late winter wind

Which takes the warmth of the sun

To release the autumn from the vegetation

They have moved on as I have moved on

Both of us in search of somewhere

Which can only be found

In the quieter distance

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Twin Tweaks

I walk awhile

And I am aware

I walk this way

To stop and stare

I’d walk for miles

Or at least a half

But it is my trouble

A failing calf

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Arrange the rearrangement

I don’t have a window

That I can sit and look out of

But I can stand

As might have done those weavers

To catch the light in their Yorkshire cottages

I do have a standing desk

Which I could move

To be front and square of the view

But what about my sitting space

And my hi-fi stereo separates

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