In search of:
Well that time
back along
down along
swing along
That time
as a child
as a teenager
That time
darts and dominoes with real ale
and a charabanc to the seaside
In search of:
Well yes that time
of Albion
As a mother
With her siblings
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
In search of:
Well that time
back along
down along
swing along
That time
as a child
as a teenager
That time
darts and dominoes with real ale
and a charabanc to the seaside
In search of:
Well yes that time
of Albion
As a mother
With her siblings
The still tree by the roof tile
Blue sky as a back-drop
Sufficient to ever raise a smile
The breezeless breath of morning-dew
Blue sea frets with silhouettes
As we wave goodbye to another crew
The hung leaf with a fresh take
Of a blue horizon foreground
For harbours or the jetties by the lake
The morning newspaper, with a pot of tea
Blue moon you effortlessly scrape the sky
Asking lightly, and yes ever so politely
Might you if it is ok, may you be set free
Two firm trunks
Solid
Into steady ground
Firs sunk as if forever
Solid set for on
Our dreams to found
Hold down her branches
Towards the silver birch
Strip off her bark
As you would a satin gown
Smile at the acorns
Beneath the mighty oak
While she shakes the leaves
And you hold her velvet cloak
| Available at Amazon |
Slowly the air settles, settles into the stillness
Balmy days, September in a tarmacadam car park
Thorns and pines, limes and grasses,
Birds cooing over by the sheltered stream
These are ordinary days, days without exception
Unless you take account of the couple
In the mock-Tudor maisonette
Their story told all over the village without regret
These are trees, painted with a watercolour brush
Whose imagination picks out faces of indiscretion
Caught up in the slowdown we turn towards winter
Fallen leaves gracefully trace the skeletal formations
Gates are left unopened
Footpaths suggest a route to dereliction
Pathways to the gradual, irreversible decay of a life
Settled in the stillness of these oh so barmy days
Ploughed furrows
Crows overhead
And on the electricity wires
Straight lines
Warming for the dusk
A day of full-on labour
And another one
All day tomorrow
Straight lines
Warning of the dust
Cakes and ale
And pasties on the cotton
Covered table
Settle back
Thankful for the harvest
Toast and butter with preserves
Trout served with softly scrambled eggs
Condiments
Cut glass refinement
Thankful for the impression