Unmanned level crossing

The twenty mile view

News from the flatlands and marshes

Earlier; as if in preview

We saw the vases of Mr Grayson Perry

Up cobbled streets; no hurry, slow up and go down

Past the west windowed Jews houses

In embroidered flouncy skirts

And broad waist corduroy trousers

Now, somehow, back in the county mansion

We stand to wait at the door there for the carriage to return

Bare but not without news of old chestnuts and peregrine Falcons

Oh and of New England, in the fall, after all

Thus spoke one who speaks of one who has gone before

The one who saw the snowdrops and the tree in beauty’s stare

With her leaves scattered on the pavements and the parking lots

Stop; still, in the now of welcome, wait here with the moment

Quietly, somehow let the breath be slow,  wipe your brow

And settle on the present sea, on this the current undulation

Knowing that at the distant station she will stop the train

If, and when it’s due, or intentionally meant for her to be

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Attitude

Spring springs in just before the summer

Autumn lights bring sparkle to the fallen rain

Down leafy lanes and broader ways

The same old songs they may sound again

Andy Fairweather-Low, not so very long ago

He looked good, I looked good

The brotherhood of man, and sisters doing it too

Fair haired, proud in denim jeans; skin tight, sky blue

Attitude

The corn is cut, the dew is on the thistle

Listen, the day begins brand new

Those two rose counties and all other advocates

They are no longer pointed out to war

In the afterglow or effervescent incantation light

Might we see beyond the fog of youth

Further now somehow

Than the close cut fringes of rights to fight for

Attitude

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Put it on the tab

Desiderata, or was it Kahlil Gibran

Or Jonathon Livingston Seagull

In an airport lounge

Durban or Dublin or Donegal

Where does the money come from to bless all

The pontiff’s men, here today with crocodile shoes

Good news if you are on their side

Stood or standing ten feet tall

Otherwise, with the underbelly of truth

You’d better start, with heart strings felt

To sing

Of the slaves, sing those sorrowful songs, the blues

Today they took me on at college

And I so so nearly did not go

An old fool with too long whiskers

The man I’d come to know

Thankfully; without a hint

Of church or grace, but no, not in any doubt

Thanks to a bit of Zen and the songs

Of Mr Cohen and Dame Vera Lynn

I turned myself, to sing again

With wonder

What shall I hear now, here for my mother

Undone by the scales

And wary of my welcome up above

It as to be the water, not the wine

Without though the need of the numbness

Of my more unfortunate snake-skin brothers

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IKEA or Habitat

He acts daft

She calls him the fool

His roundedness confounds

What on earth is she to do

Yet; or so it appears to me

They are a close together two

There though

Listen to the bitterness

The taste

Of apricot and grapefruit

The unbridled sourness, astounded

By her voice

Spitting tacks

Littered

With such observations

Do they ever have a choice

The wickedness

Piled on

So many years of wanting and waiting

Sticks and stones

And who knows

Even maybe broken bones

Piled on

So many years of waiting and wanting

This is Monday, in the morning

They, they are one of the first customers

At this store to make your house a home

I am here, alone, although not lonely

But still I wonder

What makes for a wonderful life

What is it that makes for such a wonderful life

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Nostalgia no more to need

Now and in my time I see

The shadows ever stronger

In the sunlight the darkness strays longer

Towards the far away night

Sat, at this four legged table

On a four legged, wooden chair

By the window with daylight beaming

Why not write of that I dare to care

Mickie Most and Mighty Marvel

The Hotspur; for the true blue, soccer dude

Cavalcades then move off to the carnival

To find the stuff which would turn my mood

It seems that dragons they do have dungeons

As also kestrels hover when in flight

And the dolphin by the bays edge

In the early evening, their sight holds me tight

Now and in the time when I am me

The shadow burns my fear of deceit

I am stronger in the sunlight

In the time, that, I am meant to be

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