Passing by

The stars are popping, skip hopping

Into the blood blue, blue night sky

A further station of the cross, it is show stopping

Mopping up the blessed, blest Pope John Paul

The shooting stars fly east to west

Fading aureole carried by the borealis

Boy I’m blest

I am no longer second best

Freed from among the rest

The night time test is going west

Boy I’m blest

I’ve flown the nest

Popping eyes

Stopping lies

Dropping why’s

And hints of evermore

The blue night sky

She’ll show me where to lie

Hang my hat beyond the falling star

I’ve travelled far

To lift this lowered bar

Back up aside the Byzantine tzar

Up into the ether

With John Paul meeting Peter

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Sussed not sassy

Recently presented resentment

Resent intended descent

Pretence suspended, no doubt depended

Wait, wait while I say

Wait, while I say, say

I’m at a loss, at a loss

I don’t know what to say

Recently, in the not too too distant past

Presents were passed, cards were marked

Resentment if at large, was held at bay

Wait, wait awhile, wait, stay

Stay, wait, wait while I say

I’m at a loss

I don’t know what to say

Re-sent the message not received

Intended for you found another

Descent delayed, laid upon the ledge’s edge

Wait, stay, say, say awhile

Say, wait awhile, stay

I’m at a loss

I don’t know what to say

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Fingers folded the clay that moulded

The clay

Moulded

Sculptured

Warmed

Caressed

Kissed and blessed

The fingers folded

Detail’s scolded

In frustration

Hands

They are the artists enigma

To build them in a way to reflect a life

To show compassion

To show desire

Hands in motion

Yet still

Hands that work

And hands that kill

They are though for today art

Art for the gallery visitor

The register of culture in miniature

Yes today it’s Modigliani and Epstein

The Pillars of Tenderness

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Blind the philistines

Better lines than words

Better blind than absurd

Cuckold to this life passing by

Walking the bridle path

While the slow boats whistle by

Beside the fields of rye

Beside the towpath

Dreamboats and dream’s hopes lie

Agent provocateur stimulates discussion

In the smoke filled rooms

Of dominoes, draught bitter, embittered delusion

Brighter lights and busy times

Brighter whites to blind the philistines

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Flesh and Rye

Around the maypole

Purple, blue, orange, yellow, multifarious garlands

Dance the dance of May, skipping in, skipping out

The maypole dance, skipping, sipping innocence

Or did you even then

Have your eye on V’s tie dye

Around the rounder’s base

Serge blue knickers, plimsolls and tee shirts

Pitch, swing, run, catch, throw, run, gasp, grasp

Run the rounder, round the son’s of innocence

Or did you even then

Have your eye on Y’s breast and thigh

Around the fields of canvas

Purple, blue, orange, yellow, beads and bandanas

Strum, chord, drum, strum, chord again

Strum the summer sun, summer sun of innocence

Even then it did you

Filled your eye, that festival of flesh and rye

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