Wild Flowers

In the roof space of silence

And echoed evensong

A place on this morning

Untouched yet reached for

Held up by stone pillars

As for worshipful gatherings

My prayer, my poem

Of a few simple words

Wide lake of sidelights

And shadows grace is falling

Just by being still with you

Together to gather

Sitting on the slat wood

Sitting in the pew

Unset offset imagination

Inactive, attractive so so soon

Do you propagate wild flowers

Poppies, evening primroses

Which close then open

At the same time of sunset

Open through the night

Splashing their perfume

The old peculiars

Of tobacco, and Old Spice

Dominoes, counting games

Maybe one day she might

Except once, when more unable

Tables turned and you edged away

Out uneasily from beneath

Or beyond the stairway of silence

Swift in flight did you not see

The forbearance of the night

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Who to dare you

You

You, who are at this moment reading

You, my lover, my friend

My follower leading

You

In your meditation garden

Or quietly beside

Your forty winks

Who else can you turn to

To whisper in your ear

Who that learns, then goes

Then with stillness appears to re-appear

You

In your sunbathed shelter

Or inside

Your hyacinth haven

You

Who are this moment thinking

You, my mother, my brother

My lifetime’s scent

Who else can you turn to

For always

And forever

Who to dare you to move on

Fold the page

Close the book

Walk into your garden

In reality or imagination

Dare to turn to you

To move you on

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Fairground riches

Picture postcards

Messages from well wishers

Givers of thanks

From thanks givers

Care earned

And banked

A clock

That these past few months

Has moved on so so little

Fingers are still, time is still

Spring into summer

Pictures are framed

Words in aspect south facing

Love unchained is a melody

Hold hands, stroke shoulders

Kisses on lips

Smiles and whispers

At nightfall and morning

Read and write

Draw together new pastures

Combing the wilderness

Of those unknowing

Chance to light

On summers and autumns

And winters

Of winds so so softly blowing

Pictures and postcards

And fairground riches

Care earned

And banked with thanks

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Social Gatherings

You trimmed the roses

I cut the grass

You smiled demurely

I coarsely laughed

Under my trousers

I was underwear free

You smiled profusely

Sat on my knee

You strimmed unbroken

Around the trees

Your garden our token

Of glow and breeze

Your petticoat

Is discarded, at rest

I smile into your hand

My cards played at your bequest

Under Milkwood

And countless other

Social gatherings

Pleasure is understood

Weather changes

Passions blow high and low

You cut the crap

I say hello

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Cool morning

The breeze blows a little cooler today

The weather programme talked of thunder

Yet the evening primrose opened her petals

Insects move workmanlike about the concrete flags

I forget that I am on holiday

That for today these words are not my work

That the birdsong

Is the echoed cry of a freedom already found

What is to become, who can say

Of my poetry, who would see, why he or she

Would dwell awhile, beside the Pampas Grass

And think of the Riviera, at home or abroad

To think of strolls along promenades

Or visits to the winter gardens

Or afternoons at the air shows

Balloons with passengers, and pink champagne

The hedgehog is back into hiding

It has had its three minutes of fame

Now time for the white crested blackbird

And another flower, also that I am unable to name

Only that is green and yellow and white

Impregnated garlands of crimson hanging claret

Such an endorsement of plumage

Which would look well on the dance-floor

I am reminded of Saturday nights

Of mohair suits and chisel toe shoes

Of warm night’s soft conversation before a pause

Before the applause of the cool morning breeze

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