Contentment

One last line

A chance to say goodbye

The romance; we stayed together

Only at the final furlong

Did we start to cry

It takes such a toll

Washing flagstones

Wringing sheets; it's

A death step, the kneeling

For the knees

It takes such a toll

Sitting in silence

Flitting in between

The nurses and the carers

Just in case you sneeze

One last line

It comes to us all

Or at any rate

To everyone I ever knew

Now it's my turn

Turn up the radio

Music maestro please

Open the windows

Bring on the clowns

And the comics please

Laughter, always let there be laughter

Available at Amazon

As good as it gets

Soft leather, plumped up cotton

Vast chairs of day or night

With cushions

Support for…

Anyhow this is someway to heaven

At rest

Looking at the breeze

Feeling someway secure

On the brink of reason

Available

For the entrance

To the gypsy fair

With all manner of persuasions

In shadows they flicker on by

Oh me, oh my, how to be

Enslaved to this the naked eye

Behind the eyelids

Somewhere deeper than the smile

The golden mile of pleasure

The treasure trove we buy into

Available at Amazon

Unable to touch

Is the sugar high or low

Does the doubt walk in

If or why or now I know

Where to next begin

Always to reach

For the drift of sleep

To meet

Beneath the crinkled craving

I'm waving not drowning

Underneath my skin

Awake I shake to take

The guidance once within

Is the autumn just for show

A funny kind of weather

If or why or now I know

The end to turn my tether

Available at Amazon

Lincolnshire Reds

Two brothers

Almost beyond middle aged

Hardly well dressed

Although one is for sure

Sharper than the other

An older woman

With a clay compact complexion

And a good hat

With a broad velvet rim

The smiling man

With the bidding catalogue

Among a group of friends

Or well wishers

And the lad

In the ring, with a stick

To turn the cows, in calf

Steadily around

We, we are observers

And you, though a regular

You only came for the day

Later

Back your forty miles to Boston

To the thousand of acres

Of the potato king

Before the marriages fell apart

How hideous

To have worn that soft cotton

Silk striped multi-coloured shirt

How obvious

That even though you talk

Of yourself as the country boy

You could not be less at home

Anywhere than as here today

In the cattle market

Where the Lincolnshire Reds

Are prized

For their valued price of breeding

Available at Amazon

Valuers & Surveyors

I saw a cow

Six or seven months in calf

Sold for seventeen-hundred guineas

I borrowed a book

Writing Poetry

By Doris Corti

With an introduction

Which I mistook

For being about me

Galvanised railings

Concrete slabs

For our seats

The auctioneers rattle

Repeats and repeats

I fear I face untold deceit

Sadness

On reflection

Surefooted the sun shone

On through

Valuers & Surveyor

Where I saw a cow

Six or seven months in calf

Available at Amazon