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Thursday, 29 May 2025

Tasty, and Photographic

I am in

The Yorkshire Bridge Inn

I have ordered

Homemade Steak & Kidney Pie

And a pint of Farmer’s Blonde

By the local Bradfield Brewery


Actually it will be my second

For I was here an hour ago

But they stop serving food

(Perhaps to give the cook a break)

Between three and four

So I had to turn and turn again


I’ve got a long walk back

To the Bamford Quaker House

Where I am staying, already

I am over six thousand steps

And that’s just with the getting here

Let alone that tricky trek home



Wednesday, 28 May 2025

We are inquisitive

We are inquisitive

The human race

Women more than men

Yes I think so


But there again

In case

You had not noticed

I am a man


So there I was

On the footpath

Along the bank

Of Ladybower reservoir


And to my knowledge

But please do correct me

There is no Lord Bower

Other than my old friend John


Who died

Quite possibly of alcohol poisoning

With that I say goodbye

And welcome to my mother



Tuesday, 27 May 2025

And so we walked

And so we walked

Those narrow, winding

Scilly isles lanes

On that Sunday afternoon

Which was bright

And dull

In equal measure


You could have skipped

Though I don’t suppose

This was a time

For skipping

Almost surreal really

That we walk in peace

As we part, similarly



Monday, 26 May 2025

Am I a working poet

Am I a working poet

Or a very lazy writer

Am I the one who saw it

Or simply another inscriber


Am I the truth that sends

Or the pretending aristocrat

Who fears all that defends

The status quo in his purple hat


Am I the nearly man

Or one leaning to the left

Am I with the gypsy caravan

Or once more sadly bereft


Am I the artist on tour

Or the working man’s retiree

Am I the epitome of the poor

Or seeker disguised as visionary



Sunday, 25 May 2025

The road is carved

The road is carved

Into the hillside

Down in the valley bottom

A river flows and sparkles


People walk

Cyclists cycle

Motor bike riders gather

Perhaps for an outing


Today there is the first frost

Of my latest autumn

I take a photograph

Of the silver grasslands


Now I am in the poolside café

Listening to the joyful conversation

Of two middle aged men

In their lycra and so so special shoes


On the wall a long photograph

Of a local climbing attraction

On the counter, flapjack, of all kinds

Is the main offering of the day